


in a week

by Tav



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Affairs, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Bars, Broken Limbs, Camping, Confused Steve Rogers, Doctors, Foster Care, Hospitals, M/M, Not too nice Stark, Thor Is a Good Bro, Thor is too sweet for verbs, almost forgot to add LOTS OF ANGST, did I mention Thor is adorable, for the love of theve, no really, toothache alert, yummy waterfall scenes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-22 10:36:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 38,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9604334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tav/pseuds/Tav
Summary: Dr. Rogers has always been in love with his best friend. But he only found out that Dr. Stark wanted him just as badly the day before he married Pepper.  He only kissed Stark the day Pepper fell pregnant. He only fell in bed with Stark the day Pepper’s and Tony’s second child was on the way.For Steve, the guilt of their affair is outweighed by his love for Tony.For Tony, his lust for Steve outweighs his devotion to family.Thor is determined to make Steve see how wrong it all is. He is bent on showing Steve that he, himself, is Mr. Right.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I’m having nightmares about this one….it won’t leave me alone!!!! ALSO my only knowledge of hospitals is from my past obsession with Scrubs (which ended at season 5) and from the time I broke my finger….and knee….and arm…..and….okay I was broken practically my whole childhood LOL. 
> 
> VERY unedited, so hope you enjoy. Really debating whether or not I want this to be a short or long one since I’m busy on Chapter 2 and the story hasn’t really even begun yet. Oh well…lets see. 
> 
> Title inspired by one of my favorite Hozier songs!!!! LOVE that man. If you haven't heard it, LISTEN TO IT NOW!!!!! lol

Steve rises to his feet knowing full well that the cold tiles are not at all good for his knees. But there’s just something about Dr. Stark. The lingering looks he gives Steve whenever they happen to cross paths in the hospital’s painfully white corridors or shoulder brush when they land up in the same elevator car going to different floors. There’s something about the way Dr. Stark’s hand lands on the small of Steve’s back, making him lose all concentration as Steve tries to conduct rounds with wide-eyed interns. There’s something amazingly titillating every time Steve’s pager beeps and he looks down to see the intimate proclamation; ‘must have you now’.  It’s all of these little things that make it impossible for Steve to resist rushing to the on-call room and giving Tony Stark absolutely anything he wants.

 

Dr. Stark is still in a haze of sinful bliss when Steve straightens and the younger doctor takes advantage of the moment by pushing his tongue into Tony’s mouth, tucking Tony’s cock back into his pants. Stark is thoroughly against locking lips when Steve’s mouth has consumed his load. But Steve always manages at least a few seconds in before Stark manages to get blood flowing back to the right head, the one on his shoulders.

 

“I would return the favor,” Dr. Stark breathes out, placing a chaste kiss on Steve’s cheek to avoid the blond man’s persistent lips, “but I must clean up for surgery.”

 

“Or you could just tell your patient that a D Cup is overrated,” Steve nibbles Tony’s neck, feeling triumphant when the shorter man chuckles, “and come home with me for the night.”

 

“Thank you for that astounding stress alleviation, Dr. Rogers” Tony places his hand on Steve’s chest, pushing him away by way of declination, “you’re honestly getting a lot better at this.”

 

Steve chuckles, leaning his head against the wall where Tony once stood and counting slowly to one hundred. Not just because it’s vital that nobody sees the married doctor and father of two leave the call-room with (is he gay or not already - I’ve never seen him with a girl – you know he turned down another beautiful nurse) Rogers. Rumors travel around enough as it is without the assumptions made when two residents leave the on-call room together. Alone. He also waits because he is still insanely hard, loose scrubs doing little to hide the unsatisfied need in his pants.

 

But he will take care of it at home, grateful that his shift is over. Knowing that he could have been at home already, but if Tony needs him to stay just a little bit longer; he is okay with missing his bus and waiting three more hours for the next.

 

Steve is already out of his scrubs and saying his goodnights to his colleagues as he makes his way to the exit when he hears his name being called.

 

“Dr. Rogers,” Wanda calls again, causing Steve to stop this time. He regrets it altogether when he sees the folder in her outstretched hand.

 

“My shift is over,” Steve sighs, trying not to look too sulky as he clings tighter to the backpack around his shoulder, refusing to take the folder.

 

“I know, Dr. Rogers,” Nurse Wanda looks genuinely apologetic, “but it’s your patient and everyone told me you were still around. It will only take a second, and you were specifically requested. His mom just asked that you check if her boy is alright, if there’s any possible internal dama-”

 

“Okay,” Steve relents, taking the proffered folder mainly in the hopes that it will silence the easily disconcerted young nurse, but also because one more consultation will surely be more entertaining than sitting at the bus stop for two hours, “what have we got?”

 

Steven walks determinedly towards his office with Wanda on his heel, only slightly taking in her summarization of a fall and swelling and a minor head lesion. Possibly a less painful and thoroughly common ‘kid falling out the tree and mommy freaking out’ incident, Steve thinks, grateful when the folder reveals no broken bones.

 

However, Steve stops in the doorway when he actually bothers to check the patient’s name. And sure enough when he looks up, the menace is sitting on the bed, legs swinging juvenilely off the edge. One of the many lollypops Steve keeps on his desk in a jar for the little ones is rolling from cheek to cheek in his patient’s mouth as he bobs his head to an imaginary song and studies the certificates on the wall. Just last month, the cast on his left arm was plaster-white, and now it’s a monstrosity of colors. Akin to the poor excuse for art he sees convicts enforced to clean off of the walls in his neighborhood.

 

Steve is tempted to sneak away since the office’s potential new company has yet to be spotted. But like most things in Steve’s life, that dream is completely shattered when the blond head turns, a huge smile is introduced into the equation, and the trickle of blood threatening to slide into his patient’s eye reminds Steve that it requires his attention.

 

“I would have cleaned him up for you,” Wanda is remorseful once again, “but he insisted on waiting for you.”

 

“That’s alright.”

 

“He’s very persuasive, Dr. Rogers,” Wanda whispers nervously as if the man in question is not staring right at them, “and very, very large.”

 

“I’ll take it from here, Wanda” Steve looks at her pointedly, “thank you.”

 

Steve rolls his eyes and shuts the door when his patient waves his plastered hand at him in greeting, far too enthusiastically for him to still be experiencing any sort of pain in the fractured wrist.   

 

“Mr. Theodor Odinson,” Steve let’s out a breath as he deposits his backpack and the folder, and then crosses his arms over his chest. He realizes his stance is more that of a disapproving parent, but he doesn’t care. If the man in front of him wants to behave like an infant, he will be treated as such.

 

“I’ve told you,” he pops the hard candy out of his already rosy lips that have darkened due to the confection’s coloring, “my friends call me Thor.”

 

“And I’ve told you that I’m not your friend,” Steve busies himself with sanitizing his hands, because _Thor_ is now licking the candy in short, firm glides of his distractingly large tongue, “I’m your doctor. And do I even want to know what happened this time.”

 

Thor touches his head as if just remembering why he’s there. “See, I was at the skate park with the kids-”

 

“I thought I told you to stay away from the skate park until your cast comes off,” Steve snaps on a pair of white rubber gloves.

 

“No, you told me to stay off of my skateboard,” Thor corrects, “I wasn’t on my skateboard. The kids bought me a pair of blades and I haven’t rollerbladed since I was child, because face it, when last have you seen rollerblades in my size.”

 

Steve sighs as he begins to clean the cut on Thor’s head, trying not to think about Thor’s huge feet and the implications that follow the notion. “I sometimes wonder who is more of a bad influence, you or them.”

 

“They’re a delightful bunch,” Thor smiles fondly, eyes following Steve’s every movement.

 

Steve doesn’t know whether or not to agree with that when he recalls the first time Thor was admitted over three nights after a motorbike stunt gone wrong that could have ended up being much worse than it was. And Steve had walked into the hospital room to find Thor’s mother sitting beside the bed with a dozen youngsters surrounding the blond patient. Some too young to know not to poke him and others pubescent enough to think that taking pictures of the wounded man was cool. And when Steve had announced that only family was allowed to be in at that hour, they’d all looked at him equally insulted and angered stating that they _were_ family.

That’s when Steve had come to learn that Thor’s mother ran a foster home, one of which she apparently forgot that she had to give up a child every now and then. And Thor helped her run it, earning him the status of big brother.   

 

And even though they were all different colors and shapes and sizes, in that short encounter, Steve had never felt that amount of immeasurable love in his entire years of doctoring.

 

“So I was right in the middle of a Makio when my foot slipped-”

 

“And you fell on your head,” Steve interrupts again, because Thor talks too much. Steve tries to ignore their closeness, how he fits perfectly between the larger man’s legs. Steve is a professional. “Are you trying to break your other arm?”

  
“Maybe I just like our little visits too much.”

 

“It doesn’t need stitches,” Steve ignores Thor. The larger man smells of sweat and body spray, a lesser scent of sweet raspberry filling Steve’s nostrils whenever Thor speaks. Steve blames his erection on the fact that Tony didn’t have time to get him off.

 

“We should do something together,” the smile is present in Thor’s voice but Steve refuses to look at his face. His voice is suddenly impossibly lower. “You’re taking leave next month, we should really do something.”

 

“How did you know I’m taking leave?” Steve stops what he’s doing to frown at Thor. He kicks himself when all it does is make the man’s smile broaden. Steve realizes he could have simply denied it.

 

“You were taking so long to get here so I read your planner,” Thor shrugs, as if Steve should know this already.   

 

“My intimate, personal planner,” Steve narrows his eyes, looking at the tiny red book on the desk across the office.

 

“Who is T.S?” Thor’s smile falls away.

 

“That is an inexcusable invasion of privacy.”

 

“Dinner with T.S, lunch with T.S,” Thor pushes on and Steve hates the way they talk over each other like an old married couple slightly more than he hates knowing that his patient dipped into his confidential pool.

 

“I’m gonna call a nurse to finish up here,” Steve says firmly, turning on his heel, fully prepared to assign Thor to another doctor like he should have done ages ago. But what Thor says next makes his body freeze and his blood run cold.

 

“You should not be fooling around with a married man.”

 

“What did you say?” Steve turns slowly, not wanting, but needing to hear those words again.

 

“Dr. Stark,” Thor says, “you shouldn’t be having relations with him.”

 

Thor raises his hands up in defense when Steven is suddenly in his face, the act making him look no less unapologetic for his statement. The lollypop in his grasp making him look a lot cuter than he has any right to.

 

“Listen,” Steve fumes, “I don’t know what you think you know-”

 

“I saw you two at The Keg in Brooklyn,” Thor drops, looking annoyed by the fact that Steve was going to deny it, “and unless he dropped something in your ear and was trying to fish it out with his tongue, I’m sure I know exactly what was going on.”

 

And Steve can recall all the times he and Tony have shared a table right at the back of the dodgy pub, the only gay bar in Brooklyn. A place so rough that no one who knows Tony Stark or his wife would ever be caught dead in. And then something chilling dawns on him.

 

“Are you following me?”

 

“Being a big brother doesn’t pay the bills, Steven,” Thor angers him further by having the audacity to roll his eyes and toss the unfinished candy into the closest trashcan, “I work the bar on Friday nights. You’d have probably noticed if you weren’t spending the night with your hand down a married man’s pants.”

 

“What I do in my spare time is none of your goddamn business,”

 

“You are better than that,” Steve is caught off guard when Thor stands quickly, large hand curling around the curve of Steve’s neck in a predatory sort of way. It’s a gentle sort of touch that could almost pass off as romantic were it not for the deep anger in his blue eyes. “You deserve better than that. There’s something terribly wrong with a man who will take a wife and a lover.”

 

“You don’t know him.”

 

“I don’t have to.”

 

“And you don’t know me either,” Steve says, meaning to remove Thor’s hand from his neck when he reaches up and curls his finger’s around the other man’s wrist. But Thor won’t budge and for some completely ludicrous reason, Steve doesn’t want him to. It’s almost equivalent to the way he feels when Stark touches him, he knows it’s wrong but the affection he’s so alien to melts like an extreme addiction being sated.

 

“I know you must be so severely broken to subject yourself to such abuse by someone you think you love but who only sees you as a convenience,” Thor practically growls and Steve feels several pulls inside of himself. His stomach, his chest, a sudden dull ache in his head.

 

“Please, Thor,” Steve mumbles pathetically, hating how he sounds.

 

“Tell me how badly you want to fall to pieces every time he goes home to his wife,” Thor’s eyes are suddenly so soft, so sad when Steve braves a look up. “How much longer are you going to allow him to damage you?”

 

And Steve remembers his last birthday when he’d blown off a party organized by all his closer staff members from the hospital to spend the night with Tony. Only to end up alone, drinking himself numb at the hotel bar, rereading the nonchalant text message from Stark stating, _Family stuff came up_.

 

“Let go of me,” Steve finally says, trying for anger but just sounding feeble.

 

“I’m not the man you should be saying that to,” Thor says simply. But he does as he’s told and Steve can breathe again. And when he can think again he makes his way to the door.

 

“Nurse Wanda will finish this up,” Steve says without looking back, without removing his gloves or taking his backpack.

 

From day one Steve had known that Thor was going to be trouble. Thor is a nuisance. Thor is dangerous.

 

But Thor is right.

 

And Thor is no longer his patient. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the kudos!!!! We're gonna be taking a little trip down memory lane for this one. REALLY hope you enjoy....couldn't stop writing last night....so I didn't. Next chappy will be up shortly!!!!

“What’s the matter, I got your text,” Steve hurried down the hallway to where Rhodes was pacing outside the closed door, “groom down?”

 

“Yeah,” Rhodes practically ran to Steve and grabbed his arm, forcing him to pick up the pace. “Tony’s having a meltdown. He’s locked himself in there and he’ll only talk to you.”

 

“Cold feet?” Steve frowned.

 

“Frozen,” Rhodes confirmed, not helping the already tense situation. He knocked on the door, pressing his ear against it and changing his voice entirely, a few too many octaves higher than usual. “Tony, he’s here. Are you gonna open up?”

 

“Tony?” Steve offered when the silence on the other side of the door dragged on, “are you gonna open for me, buddy?”

 

The pair looked at each other when the unmistakable clink of the door being unlocked finally sounded, Rhodes mouthing and encouraging _good luck_ with a firm pat on Steve’s shoulder. Steve took a deep breathe before entering.

 

He took a partial sigh of relief when he saw that his best friend had at least put his tuxedo on even though the bowtie was hanging loose around his neck. His hair was a mess, eyes droopy, still looking every bit as drunk as he’d been at the bachelor party. Even without the half empty bottle of Bourbon held loosely in his hand.

 

“I think it’s my obligation to remind you that there’s a lady in white on the other wing waiting to tie a little bit more than the back of her dress,” Steve tried, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  
Even so, Tony chuckled, slumping further in the chair as if the reminder made him want to stay right there even more than before. He simply says, “Why?”  


 

“It’s your wedding day,” Steve frowned, making his way to Tony, suddenly worried if that was the first bottle he’d gotten into. He knelt in front of his best friend, lifting his collar to start on his bowtie. “Tony, how much have you had to-”

 

“No, I mean why am I doing this?”

 

Steve’s hands froze after making the first loop, stomach dropping. He’d always wished he would hear those words from Stark but the actuality of them suddenly brought up bile. He looked up into his best friend’s eyes. Eyes usually so sure and brave and beautiful, now empty and lost and despairing. 

 

Steve had a window.

 

He could’ve easily run with it and told Tony that he was making the biggest mistake of his life. He could have told him he’d be eternally bound to a woman who was far too needy and preppy, solely trying to morph Tony into his father to ensure an elaborately synthetic existence. But Steve loved Tony. And Steve just wanted Tony to be as happy as he was the day Tony asked Pepper to prom and Pepper said yes.

 

“We’ve known each other, what, twenty years?” Steve tried on another smile. He thought it might have worked when Tony’s eyes stopped squinting.

 

“Twenty one years,” Tony corrected, leaning forward as Steve resumed tying Tony’s bow, fingers brushing against the bump in his throat. “I remember because I hated you. Your mother worked for us and even though you were just the son of the help everyone still loved you far more than they ever did me. Can’t blame them, who could resist the tiny blond thing with impossibly wide, blue eyes.”

 

Steve grins at the mirth underlining the anger in the roll of Tony’s eyes.

 

“You were still kind enough to ask me to swim with you,” Steve reminisced.

 

“It was 90 degrees,” Tony shrugged, “and I was lonely. More importantly, I was planning on drowning you.”   

 

Steve laughed, but Tony didn’t and Steve knew it could have really been a possibility.

 

“My point is,” Steve finished Tony’s bow and sat beside him on the couch, “ever since I first met you, you’ve always known what you want and have _gotten_ what you want. Pepper _is_ what you want. You’re doing the right thing. ”

 

“What if,” Tony had paused, reluctantly letting Steve take the bottle from his hand, “maybe, I want something else?”

 

When Steve’s eyes met Stark’s the next time, the blond man had been shocked to his core. Because for a fleeting second, Steve had seen longing embedded in the frame of dark lashes and his totality throbbed. The knock on the door made both their eyes snap to it.

 

“Not trying to alarm anyone,” it was Bucky’s voice through the door, “but now even the flower girls are starting to take bets about whether or not this thing is gonna happen.”

 

Both of them chuckled, Steve loving and absolutely hating Bucky’s timing. But it allowed Tony to shake his head clear and stand and pretend that none of anything had ever happened since he got down on one knee and said, ‘I dunno, will ya?’

 

And as they made their way out of the room, Steve wondered if he’d be able to push that one under the carpet like he had at the bachelor party when Tony had held him closer than any _friend_ should another. When Tony had stroked his hair, dragging his lips over Steve’s jaw and purred dazedly how he’d fantasized for years how pretty they would be naked together.

 

Steve had pushed it all aside and done his duty as best man, heartbreaking with every syllable of vow Tony uttered.   

 

And then effortlessly, yet again, Stark had wrecked Steve’s obstinacy with just one spontaneous press of his lips against Steve’s. Shamefully, Steve’s first kiss. First kiss from his first love. First love who just received news about his first baby on the way.

 

It was a kiss Steve was certain he would never return from. So complex in its simplicity, a stolen moment right before his best friend left for his honeymoon. Yet so intense that years of yearning melted into one swipe of Tony’s tongue and his desperate words of confirmation that he’d been dying to do that since they were teenagers.  Steve had been lost long before that day, but that day made him content with the idea that he may never be found.

 

But Stark played it off as a lapse in judgement, a fleeting moment of loss of control. Even when he laid Steve down barely a year later, caressed his sides and entered him, he maintained that lapse. But Stark always came back after that, fueling Steve’s hope and igniting a new fiercer flame with each stroke. Steve volunteered himself as puppet, solely to pick Tony up every chance he was afforded the chance to.

 

Steve lets the ice knock against the sides of his glass as he thinks back, spending yet another Saturday night alone in his less than fabulous micro loft. The doorbell is all that makes him come to terms with the fact that wallowing is possibly the worst way to be found dead.  

 

“And how did my surgery go, why thank you for asking, it went splendidly actually and now my patient has a brand new pair of bazonkers that are sure to keep her husband’s wandering eye off of their sixteen year old au pair.”

 

Steve is still standing with his hand on the doorknob, even though Tony has already kissed his cheek and is busy opening a bottle of wine in the open plan kitchen. He can’t be blamed, it’s a little bit disorientating when you were expecting the little old from down the hall to be standing there in tears, asking you if you’ve seen her missing cat again and getting a freshly showered, sex-on-legs-Stark, barging in instead. Steve had been fully prepared to remind her that she’s never owned a cat.

 

“And look at you all dolled up for a night on the town,” Tony grins, feigning envy as he takes in Steve’s worn sweatpants, five year old vest which he swears was once white, and bare feet, “how come you never dress like this for me. I’m jealous.”

 

“You shouldn’t be here,” Steve finally shuts the door as his wits slowly return, “what the hell are you doing here?”

 

“I was getting to that, impatient,” Tony is suddenly in front of Steve, smelling devastatingly edible, handing him a glass of red wine. Steve is sincerely grateful for it because all of his night’s hard work has been entirely wasted with how sober he suddenly feels. Stark owes him half a bottle of whiskey.

 “Pepper’s mother had another one of her kooky visions. This time she’s convinced that her mailman is trying to kill her. Long story short, Pepper and the girls have gone down to pay her a visit and remind her that the only man conspiring to murder her is me.”

 

Steve wants to smile at the nonchalant way Tony can make the most sensitive subjects seem comical, but Tony clinks their glasses together in a wordless toast and his lips are suddenly over Steve’s and Steve can think of nothing more than how good it feels to have Tony’s arm circle his waist and pull him close.

 

“So I,” Tony grabs the front of Steve’s vest and walks backwards, pulling Steve with him in the direction of the couch, “am all yours for the night.”

 

And for the first time ever, Steve doesn’t feel the elation that this sort of notion usually effortlessly induces. Even as Stark relieves them both of their glasses, falls back onto the couch allowing Steve to land heavily on his chest, there is a twist in his chest, an alien pain that’s been there since walking away from Thor the previous day.

 

And it’s entirely ridiculous. Thor has absolutely no right to have any sort of influence on his emotions. Thor doesn’t know what he and Tony have, what they’ve shared. Thor has never seen the way Stark looks at him at moments like this when they’re alone together, bodies tangled and pushing and scratching. He’s never seen the ravenous spark in Tony’s eyes as they deftly rid themselves of threads, exposing inflamed skin in their need to feel the other’s flesh against their own. Thor has never heard the breathes they share, the moans of unworldly satisfaction that escape Steve’s lips at the feeling of being completely filled by the man he loves.

 

Thor has never watched Steve fake a smile, fighting hard to hold back tears as Tony quickly gets dressed, cursing at the unread text messages flooding his phone before kissing Steve goodbye and rushing home to his family.

 

Steve curses Thor entirely because he should not be thinking about this now. Not when he has Tony beneath him, doing wonderful things with his tongue and teeth and hands, fingers kneading his ass beneath his sweats, forcing their groins together to share their mutual arousal.  But Steve can’t stop thinking about it, because it’s the same thing every time. Immeasurable pleasure followed instantaneously by inconceivable pain.

 

“Tony,” Steve croaks out, his collarbone between the other man’s teeth. Tony hums in response, sucking a mark into the delicate skin there. “Tony, stop.”

 

And Tony does, looking as equally baffled as Steve feels because Steve has never once said that word to Tony. Steve uses Tony’s brief moment of befuddlement to get as far away from Stark as possible. He makes it to the kitchen on shaky legs, fingers gripping the edge of the counter with white knuckles. Body hunched over as he stares at a stain on the mock marble that he’s never been able to get rid of.  

 

“It’s the new cologne, isn’t it,” Tony’s voice is too close, possibly a few feet behind him. “I told the tiny persistent sales clerk that if I’m not completely satisfied with it, I will right very naughty things on Facebook about h-”

 

“Stop, Tony,” Steve barks that word this time. Because he absolutely cannot stand Stark being so nonchalant when it feels as though his whole world is collapsing beneath him. “We can’t do this anymore. I can’t do it.”

 

There is a long silence that feels like eternity before Tony clears his throat. “We’ve been through this before, Steven. We just keep coming back to each other.”

 

“Well it’s different this time,” Steve’s voice nearly breaks and so he decides to keep his sentences brief even though he wants to yell at Stark indefinitely. “You should go.”

 

“Will you please at least look at me?”

 

“No,” Steve shakes his head stubbornly, “because if I look at you I’m going to ask you to stay.”

 

There is another long silence, so lengthy that Steve actually thinks he might have gotten his message across. Tony might have actually left already. But Steve refuses to look over his shoulder. He’s prepared to stay there until morning if he has to, just to make sure. But then Tony’s arms come around his waist and his lips are at the back of Steve’s neck. And this ‘classic Tony’ that Steve would have once given into only makes him that much angrier. Because Steve can picture Tony doing this exact thing to Pepper on nights she questions him about his whereabouts and Tony’s neglected to form an alibi.

 

“Steven-”

 

“If you don’t leave now I’ll tell her everything,” Steve says.

 

Tony goes rigid.

 

“You wouldn’t.”

 

“Try me,” is all Steve can manage. And this time a tear really does roll down his cheek. Because Tony lets go of him.

 

Steve waits until he hears the door shut before he chokes out the held back sob. He finishes the wine and then the whiskey, inebriating himself to the point where his only troubles revolve around the fact that he’s out of alcohol.

 

Steve somehow manages to get his coat and shoes before making his way out the door to the one place that’s never short of liquor and testosterone.   

.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments ALWAYS welcome and looooved. :-D


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you all for the kudos and the comments. Hope you enjoy this one. Mistakes are my own and typing in zombie mode now need sleep zzzzzzzzz 
> 
> Lol,bad jokes aside, HAPPY READING!

“Is he dead?”

 

“He looks just about dead.”

 

“I thought doctors were supposed to heal dead people, not become them.”

 

“Honestly Erik, doctors don’t heal dead people. Dying, yes, but not dead.”

 

Steve groans, the infantile voices in his head adding to the incessant pounding and unkind constriction that makes it feel as though his brain is being shoved into a matchbox.  There is a bright light burning red against his eyelids no matter how tightly he clenches them shut and he can feel the sweat peppering his skin, alcohol leaving his flesh the same way it threatens to leave his stomach. He groans again.

 

“See, he isn’t dead.”

 

Steve has never wished that that statement could be inaccurate more than he does right now. And not just because he’s never felt so sluggishly revolting in his life, but because he recalls the events that led up to him resorting to such a deplorable way to escape his inner pain.

 

Despite really not wanting to, Steve finally opens his painful eyes, needing to make some sense of what is actually going on. Of where the hell he is.  Of who the hell the two young boys are, the ones he sees eyeing him from the safety of a bookshelf across the room.  Like he’s some circus freak that could go feral at any given moment.

 

“Where am I?” Steve’s throat is parched, spine slightly painful when he dares to sit up on his elbows. He realizes it was an altogether terrible idea when something awful rolls in his stomach.

 

“You’re in Frigga’s Foster Home, Dr. Rogers,” one of the boys answers in the cutest, most proper little British accent that Steve has ever heard. But however reassuringly welcoming it may sound, it does little to calm Steve’s nerves because the information makes less sense to him than the fact that he isn’t in his own clothes. Steve desperately needs to ask more questions. It takes him longer than usual to settle on one. But he has no time to voice it, because the blue eyed child is crossing the room and offering Steve his hand.

 

“I’m Charles, Dr. Rogers,” he says with more maturity than anyone so tiny has any right to possess, “and this is my brother, Erik.”

 

Steve looks between the two boys as he shakes the small proffered hand. Apart from the fact that they both have blue eyes and brown hair, Steve fails to see any possible relation between the two of them. And then the term _Foster Home_ makes perfect sense.  

 

“What did I tell you boys about bothering the stranger,” her voice makes them all look to the doorway where a lady with blood red hair is suddenly standing, sharp eyebrow raised and arms folded in a stance that wreaks authority.  Even so, the softest smile touches her lips, taking an edge off of the way she’s tapping her foot.

 

And Steve actually remembers her. Though overwhelmingly intoxicated the night before, there’s something about the curve of her full lips and petite hips that makes Steve remember that she had been his bartender. Steve inwardly groans when he recalls that he may have even flirted with her in exchange for drinks that she still refused to serve him, regardless of how many notes he’d placed down on the countertop.

 

“Bartender’s code,” he remembers her cheeky voice float effortlessly over the annoying music, “if you can’t count backwards from one hundred to D, I’m unauthorized to serve you. C’mon, you can do it, start at August.”

 

Steve almost chuckles at the fact that he’d actually tried.

 

“But he isn’t a stranger,” the young boy protests, obediently allowing himself to be led out of the room by her with his quieter brother in tow. “He’s Dr. Rogers. He fixed Thor’s back, remember? And his leg. And his arm.”

 

“Thor,” Steve concludes quietly, dropping his head back onto the pillow and covering his face with his hands. He’d blacked out at the bar where Thor worked and now he is in the foster home Thor’s mother runs. “Why am I not surprised.”

 

How _can_ Steve be surprised when all of the turmoil in his perfectly dull and mundane life began the second Thor opened his mouth, thinking his opinion mattered. And now Steve is queasy and Starkless and in foreign territory where children of the corn watch him sleep.

 

Steve takes a moment to take in his surroundings, certain that the room he’s in belongs to a confused pubescent boy. He wouldn’t call it untidy, simply unsystematic in its calculated clutter. A sea of comic books beside alphabetized encyclopedias. Miniature action figures lining a shelf with antique chess sets and a model ship in a bottle. The walls are equally contradicting, worn out posters of _Casablanca_ and _Gone with the Wind_ plucked up at careless angles with an even larger _Dragon Ball z_ collage throwing off the entire sophistication of the mural. But what really throws Steve off is the antique looking violin case propped up against an amplifier that clearly belongs to the electric guitar beside it, piles of sheet music atop the sound box.  It certainly gives Steve the impression of a juvenile professor. Not a boy, not yet a man.

 

Steve, however, notices that what mainly fills the walls is photographs, both new and old. Some framed and nailed to the wall while others stuck up at the corners with clear tape. At this distance and still partially squint, Steve can’t make out more than them portraying a large family in various settings. Christmas trees and lakes, skate parks and mountains. So Steve settles on staring at the one on the nightstand, a certain individual amongst the large group of smiling faces seducing him into lifting the frame.

 

It’s that same broad smile and long golden hair, only this time his face is scrunched comically as he attempts to hug everyone at the same time and carry the rest on both knees. Despite himself, the tiniest smile touches Steve’s lips.

 

“That was some show you put on last night,” Steve nearly drops the photo when the redhead is suddenly back in the room.  Steve is unsure if its relief he’s feeling that he is no longer alone and she actually is, no tiny humans in tow.

 

“That’s really not like me, I’m so sorry,” Steve offers quickly before she can demand an apology. He regrets it a second later when she yanks the drapes wide open, inviting in harsh sunlight that Steve usually jumps out of bed to jog to.  

 

“Don’t be,” she shrugs, busying herself with her head in a closet, “it was entertaining. My favorite part was when you stood on the bar and started reciting The Declaration of Independence.”

 

Steve’s eyes go wide and he’s suddenly trying to wrack his brain for such a memory. But his panic is short-lived, because even though he knows absolutely nothing about this enigmatic red-headed bartender, when she looks at him again even he can tell that the expression there is nothing but good-natured teasing.

 

She tosses a tiny pile of folded clothes onto Steve’s stomach and it takes him a second to realize that they’re his. They’re still a little warm and very fresh, smelling better than they have in ages. Feeling softer beneath his palm.    

 

“Thank yo-”

 

“Do _not_ thank me,” she holds up her hand and frowns as if Steve was about to insult her and her puppy and her forefathers, “all I did was phone Thor to get you out of my bar. And believe me, I didn’t do it for you, I did it because I knew that he would never forgive me if I left you passed out on the sidewalk.”

 

She digs into another cupboard and pulls out a fluffy white towel. This time when she tosses it at Steve it’s purposely aimed at his face. If Steve’s reflexes were up to par he would have caught it before it reached its destination.  

 

“Down the hall, second door to the right,” she casually informs. “Best you wash up before coming down for breakfast.”

 

“Wait,” Steve moves too quickly, ripping the duvet off of himself before realizing that apart from the over-sized t-shirt, he’s not actually wearing any pants. Steve blushes and gets back under the covers, ignoring her smirk and eyebrow raise.

 

“I do not know what he sees in you,” she looks him over judgmentally in a way that makes him feel as though he isn’t fully covered once again. Steve chooses to ignore her.

 

“I really don’t need to stay for breakfast,” Steve reasons somewhat urgently, feeling that overwhelming need for the type of familiarity that only his own cold, lonely apartment can offer.  “I’ve really overstayed my welcome. Besides, I don’t think I can actually stomach anything solid. I’d be so grateful for a Advil if you-”

 

“Rogers, shut up,” she is really frowning this time, “Frigga will take it as a personal insult if you don’t at least stay for some toast, you need the starch anyway. And the least you can do is introduce yourself properly to the family you traumatized last night. So I better see you down there in twenty with a smile.”

 

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve says, barely resisting the urge he has to salute. He lets out a breath when she finally leaves, not before giving him a warning glare, daring him to disobey her orders. And despite the awkwardness and tension of the short morning encounter, there’s a tiny part of Steve that sees himself growing to like her. Then he buries it deep down, because after today he has no intention of ever seeing any of these people again. Thor included.

 

Steve feels his already dismal spirits worsen when he remembers that he is going to have to see Thor face to face within the hour. He tries not to think about it too much as he makes his way to the bathroom, feeling ill enough as it is. He instead takes in the general warmth of the house. Burnt orange walls lined with photos and poorly drawn pictures, some terrible bronze art that he doesn’t even want to try and understand. He takes in the hardwood floors, decorated with a toy truck here and a few playing blocks there, but otherwise clean. It’s a cozy sort of terrible; one Steve never experienced growing up yet often pictured most real family homes would look like.

 

The bathroom is no different, several colored towels hanging on their respective hooks, toothbrushes in their respective mugs and a rubber duck lying forgotten in the empty tub. The shower wrack is lined with an assortment of shower gels and shampoos, so many different ranges that he doesn’t know what he’s permitted to use.

 

When Steve is done with his partially cold shower, he feels a lot less green, but no less unsettled. Because all clean and fully dressed, Steve has no more excuses to prolong the inevitable nightmare of going downstairs and facing the world.

 

Steve follows the voices. Chatter, laughter and arguments becoming louder with every step he takes down the stairs. Steve follows the unmistakable smell of eggs and coffee, toast and something sweet. Something akin to pancakes or waffles.

 

All of this makes it easy for him to find the kitchen and regret ever finding it the second he stands in the doorway and takes in the view.  

 

In any other situation the kitchen would be considered large, but the sheer size of it gets lost by the scale of the army filling it.   

 

The large table in the center of the vicinity was possibly filled with food only seconds ago; something Steve is sure doesn’t last very long what with the teenage boys surrounding it. Steve isn’t entirely surprised the boys outnumber the girls as he has paid attention to statistics stipulating that the older males are always the hardest to place in homes. He counts a total of four, almost smiling when the freckled ginger manages to steal a pork sausage from the blond one while the blond one is preoccupied with putting the boy beside him in a playful headlock. He cringes when their antics nearly knock a glass of orange juice off of the table.   

 

“Would you guys quit it,” a beautiful young lady is ordering, looking every bit as concerned as the other teen in the glasses. _Charles_ , from earlier, is equally troubled by the commotion while _Erik_ just laughs.

 

The lady who Steve remembers as Thor’s mother seems entirely unfazed, shaking her head with a fond smile whenever she looks over her shoulder as if to monitor yet not dare intervene. Like she’s so accustomed to the commotion that she knows it will never get out of hand. She continues to juice her concoction in a blender that adds to the early morning din.

 

Then a tiny little girl with golden blonde hair catches Steve’s eye. And she’s sitting on the kitchen counter, giggling, oblivious to absolutely everything else unfolding in the kitchen. Unaffected by everyone but the large man stealing all her attention, looking impossibly larger in a bright pink Barbie apron that fails to fasten around the girth of his waist. In fact, it looks more like a large bib against his strong chest and Steve is certain that Thor is wearing it solely to amuse the little girl and not to prevent whatever it is he’s mixing in the large plastic bowl from staining his white shirt. A hard thing to accomplish since the bowl is being held sloppily against his belly with his casted arm.    

 

Despite himself, Steve can’t help but smile as he watches Thor whisper something to the little princess, look over his shoulder at his mother, before returning to smuggle her a small taste from his spoon to which she nods at in complete approval. Then Thor touches the spoon to her nose leaving a splotch of batter. And she simply giggles some more as she wipes at her face.

 

Steve is so enthralled by the exchange that he doesn’t notice the ever persistent lady from before until it’s too late, and she’s nudging him into the kitchen and clearing her throat.

 

An instantaneous silence fills the kitchen and all eyes are immediately on Steve.

 

With the tensions that rise due to such an awkward situation, Steve is absolutely horrified that he finds his only comfort in the way Thor’s face brightens up when their eyes meet.  

 

Steve is mortified that he actually finds solace in something as simple as Thor’s smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was my last introductory chapter....Onwards to Theveness!!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh but I hope you enjoy this chapter. Was supposed to be up yesterday but first my laptop was down then got it fix just in time for the elec to go out then I pulled out a bit of hair but here it is!!!! HAPPY READING!!!!!!!!! Oooh oooh ooooh, and HUGE thanks to the comments and kudos that keep me excited about this....really enjoying keeping you all entertained.

There are a number of moments in Steve’s life that have been truly, unforgettably embarrassing. He wishes, for the life of him, that he could remember just one, because he honestly feels as though the memory will be able to alleviate even the slightest bit of apprehension he’s feeling right now. 

Steve does hospital rounds with fresh-out-of-university interns all the time. Some of who look as scrawny and brittle as he did in high school before he started pumping iron to make the football team regardless of how many people taunted that a stick figure like him never would. And so Steve is no stranger to an audience and unscripted conversations that require him to think on his feet on a daily basis. 

The only difference is, in those situations, the spectators are always on his turf. The same walls Steve has been boxed in and doors he’s walked through for nearly a decade give him the upper hand. Allow him to own his authority. Give him that sense of control. 

Now, Steve is on uncharted territory. And even though the children’s eyes are full of questions and Steve knows they won’t be nearly as challenging as the ones thrown at him by his bosses during his two-monthly scenarios, or even his interns during rounds, he still feels the unease that comes with being a foreigner in a family’s fortress. 

“Who are you?” the freckled ginger blurts out and blondie boxes his arm. 

“Children,” it's Thor’s mother who’s beaming at Steve, approaching him in a way that seems more like floating than walking, “you remember Dr. Rogers. Or should I say, Patient Rogers in this instant. How are you feeling, dear?” 

Steve is grateful that she adds the last part quietly enough for only him to hear, relieved when he notices not an ounce of condemnation in her face. He’s actually taken aback when her expression reflects that of genuine concern. 

“I’m honestly not at my best, ma’am.”

“Frigga, please-” she smiles sweetly and actually curtseys playfully. Her tie and dye dress would look awful on the rack, but somehow seems to suit her charmingly. Steve thinks it has something to do with the way her hair is braided in an intended disorderly sort of way and how the many bangles and charms decorate the rest of her. Steve half expects her to ask him if she can read his palm. 

“Frigga,” Steve corrects, refraining from telling her how unusual her name is. 

“And this,” Frigga places an arm around Steve’s back, gesturing around the kitchen with her other hand when she continues, “Is Natasha, Angel, Hank, Alex, Armand, Sean, Erik, Charles and the little one attached to Theodore is Raven.” 

Frigga spoke too enthusiastically fast for Steve to follow, but it doesn’t matter. One only bothers memorizing names of people they intend on forming anything remotely similar to a relationship. Which in this case, Steve does not. 

“Hello,” Steve offers. The response he receives is a mixture of suspicious glares, uncommitted greetings, two enthusiastic waves and one unnecessary salute. Steve ignores the wink from Thor. 

“Come, sit,” Frigga is suddenly pulling him further into the kitchen and Steve feels his trepidation return. When had it subsided? It couldn’t possibly have been Thor’s doing again. “Sit down; I’ll set a plate for you.” 

“Actually, mother,” Thor crosses the kitchen in a few short strides. If he hears his ‘sibling’s’ whispers or sees their inquisitive glances, he’s certainly paying neither any heed, “Dr. Rogers actually informed me that there is somewhere he simply has to be this morning.” 

“Did he tell you this while he was snoring and drooling on your pillow?” the lady with red hair inquired sarcastically as she buttered a croissant. Natasha, Frigga had introduced her as. It seems fitting enough, Steve thinks, every Natasha that Steve has ever known has been unapologetically blunt. 

“So, not to be rude,” Thor ignores Natasha and hands his mother the mixing bowl, “if you could please finish this up for me, I can give Dr. Rogers a ride home.” 

Frigga looks uncertainly between Steve and Thor, even as Thor adorns her with the pink apron and kisses her cheek. Steve is so grateful for the possibility of a quick and easy escape that he doesn’t even flinch away when Thor wraps his uninjured hand around Steve’s arm. He honestly doesn’t know what it is about Frigga that takes him back to childhood, but he suspects Thor feels it too when he notices that they are both still just standing in front of her like hopeful kids waiting for approval. 

“Alright then,” she says, looking slightly disappointed for all of three seconds before perking up again. “But, Dr. Rogers, I made you something. I’ll just pack it for you for the road.” 

Steve is about to politely decline as he watches Frigga pour whatever she had been juicing into a flask. But Thor yanks him closer before Steve can utter a word. And Thor’s lips are practically against Steve’s ear with his next whispered warning, “Just accept it or we’ll never get out of here.” 

“Now, I know you’re accustomed to your European medication,” Frigga walks back up to them and hands Steve the canteen, “but this is a recipe I learnt from a traditional healer during my crusade in Kenya. It will have you back to normal in no time.”

“Thank you, ma- Frigga,” he nods politely, allowing himself to be guided away by Thor. 

“Can I come too?” the tiny girl that Frigga called Raven asks and Thor makes a beeline to where she’s still sitting atop the counter. Steve watches as Thor lifts her up, kisses her cheek and then places her on the ground, crouching down to her level. 

“But you’re the pancake princess,” Thor says with a smile, “if you don’t stay here and make sure Mamma Frigga does it right, what will become of Pancaketopia?” 

And Steve marvels at the way it makes Raven beam, give him a quick hug before running to Frigga. He marvels at Thor’s ease in a situation where he would have fumbled miserably regardless of how many children he’s been forced to deal with in his line of work. Thor is sort of slightly a little bit marvelous on some very tiny, microscopic scale. 

When Thor straightens, this time his fingers wrap around Steve’s wrist, long and large enough to cover the circumference.   
When they stop in front of Natasha, Thor raises his plastered hand. And after a short nonverbal exchange during which Natasha glares up at him and he smiles down at her, Natasha reaches behind herself and retrieves a small bunch of keys off the counter. She cheekily hooks a keyring on Thor’s middle finger.   
When they make their way to the door of the worryingly quiet kitchen and Thor nods their departure, the farewell they receive sounds like an unrehearsed choir. It’s unsubtle proof that Steve will be the topic of discussion when he and Thor are good and gone.

Steve was wrong. The two of them are not a foot out of the kitchen’s back door before the room erupts in a surge of loud chatter. He finds himself laughing quietly with Thor on the terrace, staring back at the closed door that’s doing little to muffle the onslaught of questions and predictions. And then Steve realizes he’s laughing with Thor, genuinely, on a Sunday. And the traitorous morning sunlight makes Thor’s hair even more gold, eyes an altogether different shade of blue, the exposed skin on his neck and arms unfairly bronze. 

Steve shakes his wrist out of Steve’s grasp and clears his throat, lips thinning. 

“Is that you?” Steve hopes, but doesn’t presume as he points to a black Mini Cooper parked in the shade of an apple tree. Steve didn’t think people still planted Apple trees in their back yard. Or any trees for that matter, Steve thinks as he takes in the landscape that is abundant with fruit trees and colorful flowers, swings and a goddamn gazebo. Steve is certain he’s stepped into the twilight zone. 

“Only if I want my testicles cut off,” Thor makes a face as if it has been a past close encounter, “that’s Natasha’s.” 

“She’s a rather delightful lady,” Steve huffs out a short laugh, following Thor down a short path. 

“Give her some time,” Thor shrugs and Steve is just about to kill Thor’s dreams about another encounter ever even being a probability, but one turn around the corner of the house forces him to stop in his tracks. 

“I’m not getting in that,” Steve frowns, looking the deep green Jeep Rubicon over. Steve would never have even known what it was were it not for Bucky’s car pornography magazines, his obsession altogether. The wheels alone are intimidating enough, lack of top making it look as though it will be at home on a safari drive in Africa and Steve is certain that Bucky would have - what he likes to call it- a cargasm if he were to lay eyes on it. 

“Why not,” Thor chuckled. 

“Because we’re not going hunting,” Steve says matter-of-factly, only succeeding in making Thor laugh even more. Steve only vaguely has time to curse Thor’s voice for being so beastly deep before he realizes that Thor is holding the door open for him. 

Nobody has ever held any door open for him before.

“What’s wrong Mr. Rogers?” Thor tilts his head curiously, smirk never leaving, “do large things intimidate you?” 

As if done on purpose, with Thor’s hand still holding the door open, the muscle in his arm twitches, drawing attention to the rest of him. Steve has often been accused of being large by his younger patients, even by some flirtatious ladies. Even by Tony Stark. But he is sure that in the presence of Thor, all of that appraisal would be lost to the mountain of muscle and height that makes up Theodore Odinis. 

Steve knows that that is only one of the many reasons he hates Thor so much. 

Steve shakes his head, realizing that he was suddenly staring at Thor instead of the beast of a vehicle. And Thor, damn him, looks far too smug about what Steve had hoped he’d gotten away with. 

“I’m not,” Steve says as nonchalantly as possible as he climbs into the car, “just curious. Why so big, are you overcompensating for something?” 

“Would you like to see?” is Thor’s witty comeback barely a second later, leaving Steve with absolutely no time to even revel in his own. 

And Steve chooses to ignore Thor, looking straight ahead so as not to embarrass himself further by rewarding the larger man with the view of his blush. If Thor got a glimpse of it before closing the door, Steve will blame his flush on the fact that he is still extremely ill, yet another thing Steve blames Thor for. And he plans on showing Thor just how angry he is with the situation Thor has put him in for the duration of their unfortunate time together. But as Thor enters the vehicle, Steve realizes that he really doesn’t have any right to be rude when he pushes his childishness aside and reviews all that Thor is doing for him. 

“Thank you,” Steve mumbles, barely heard over the roar of the vehicle as it comes to life. 

“Don’t thank me,” Thor says, pulling onto the road rather skillfully for a man with one and a half hands, “when I heard the reason behind your drunken conduct I was more than happy to be of service.”

“Oh,” Steve cringes, eyes focused on the road ahead, “so you know, then.” 

“You told Natasha, Natasha told me,” Thor shrugs, “I’m honestly proud of you.”

Steve grunts his response because he’s still unsure of how he really feels about any of it. He’s certain he’s still quite drunk, because apart from the sickness of overindulgence, he’s pretty much void of any other feelings. 

“So,” Thor breaks the silence, “what made you change your mind about-”

“Can we not talk about it,” Steve interrupts and it’s a statement not a question. 

“No problem,” Thor says even though his voice is underlined with disappointment. “Would you like to tell me where you live?” 

Steve is about to blurt out his address if not only to keep the conversation heading as far away from Tony as possible. But then he rethinks the idea, because it means that Thor will know where he lives. As if reading his mind, Thor sighs. 

“Look,” he spares Steve a glance, “I know I’ve been intrusive and forward, probably overstepped more boundaries than I should have and for that I am sorry. But I’m trying to help you. I promise not to take advantage of this knowledge.” 

“Across the ice-cream bar in Jefferson,” Steve relents and Thor doesn’t hide his shock with the fact that Steve too lives in Brooklyn. Steve gets that a lot when people put his profession and his home into the same equation. He’s grateful when all Thor does is nod. 

And that’s all Thor has really been doing, he’s been kind and accommodating. Rescuing Steve from the bar, taking Steve to his home, and from what Natasha had implied, putting Steve in his bed. Steve suddenly frowns when something else comes to mind.

“Did you undress me?” 

Thor doesn’t have to say a word; the smile on his face says it all. The blush on his cheeks says a little too much. But Thor elaborates anyway. 

“To my defense,” Thor shrugs again, taking a left turn in the mostly empty streets “you’d thrown up on everything but your underwear. I wasn’t going to let you sleep like that.” 

“I’m really sorry,” Steve offers again, humiliation he’d forgotten he was supposed to be focusing on returning. “And thank you.”

“It was my utmost pleasure,” Thor says. And it’s the way he says it that sends shivers down Steve’s spine just as much as it makes him want to take his appreciations back.”

Steve is grateful when he notices there’s only one turn left before they’re in his street, the silence in the car only filled by small, soundless glances spared just in time for the other not to catch it. When Thor pulls up in front of Steve’s building, Steve is quick to put his hand on the larger man’s arm when Thor makes a move to exit the vehicle.

“I was just going to open the doo-”

“I know,” Steve can’t help but chuckle at the look on Thor’s face. It’s a child-caught-with-hand-in-the-cookie-jar sort of look and as much as Steve would like to deny it, it’s absolutely adorable. “And they say chivalry is dead.” 

Steve jumps out of the vehicle and makes his way to the entrance of his apartment building. 

“You really should drink that, Dr. Rogers,” he hears Thor holler after him. He looks down at the flask in his hand and gives thumbs up over his shoulder as opposed to actually looking back at Thor. 

If Steve looks back, Thor will see the goofy grin on his face.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all you lovely people.
> 
> Been away for a while but I assure you I am back... I might even have a little gift for all who like this pairing....Because I can be sweet when I have time and feel my artistic juices flowing (wow that sounded wrong)
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy!!! All mistakes are my own. I swear I shall come back to edit, so feel free to point out any mistakes!!!! Happy reading

Steve won’t ever admit to having a dream about Thor the previous night. He has absolutely no recollection of any distorted white forests with stethoscopes been placed on hard, tanned chests or thermometers taking rectal ventures. 

 

Steve won’t confess that he’d woken up ridiculously hard and close, because simply put, Steve was not a teenager anymore.   

 

He will, however, admit that whatever Frigga had fused into the concoction she’d given him had done wonders for his hangover. For his energy levels in general, Steve muses, honestly feeling fresher than he’s felt on a Monday morning in ages.

 

Steve stares down at the empty flask, rolling it from hand to hand in the nearly crowded bus. He’ll leave it in his office and give it to Thor when Thor returns to get his cast removed within the month. Or more likely, if Thor shows up even sooner with a new injury, past being the best predictor of future behavior.

 

“Give it to me straight, Doc,” Thor once asked while Steve prepped him for a rabies shot after Thor had been bitten by a Chihuahua while rescuing the stray animal from a drain, “will I ever be able to play the banjo again?”    

 

The lady beside Steve gives him an odd look and inches away from him and it takes a second for Steve to realize it is probably because he is chuckling at an overly pink, floral flask. He wants to reassure her that he isn’t psychotic, that the antics of his overly animated patient sometimes just induce spontaneous spurts of jollity.  But the familiar face in the aisle across the bus suddenly renders all explanations insignificant.

 

“Angel!” Steve calls above the rumble of the bus’s engine and the chatter of its passengers. The initial shock of being recognized makes her snap her head his way, eyes wide and full of mortified bewilderment before she abruptly faces away and buries herself further beneath her black hoodie.

 

“Angel?” Steve tries again. And even though it’s more of a careful inquiry than a flat accusation like before, it’s enough to make Angel rise from her chair and make her way to the door through the sea of passengers who have just stepped onto the bus. And even though Steve is a few too many stops away from the hospital, her reaction alone is enough to make Steve know he has no choice but to go after her.

 

“Angel, wait up,” Steve has to jog down the sidewalk to catch up to her.

 

“What is your problem?” Angel suddenly stops, face flushed when she turns to face him. “What, are you gonna report me to Thor and Frigga? Tell them that I’m ditching school? Because you have no right to, it’s none of your damn business.”

 

And in that moment, Steve curses his instincts and timing as he looks the young lady over, fully aware that he has stumbled upon something a lot more complicated than a teenager trying to evade the impending embarrassment of being seen in public with someone her peers might consider unhip.

 

Although a bit much, her makeup is impeccable, sharp brows coming together in a frown that’s highlighted by the pout of her red lips. Her choice of wardrobe might be a little inappropriate for someone her age, black skirt slightly too short and boots a bit too high. But there’s a certain plumpness in her cheeks and innocence in her glossy eyes that frame her youth despite the level of maturity she’s trying to achieve by hiding under her grown-up façade.  

 

“You’re right,” Steve shrugs, “it is none of my business. I wasn’t going to do any of that.”

 

“You weren’t?” Angel says slowly, skeptically as she adjusts the backpack over her shoulder and then wraps her arms around herself. “Then what do you want?”

 

“I just wanted-” Steve pauses, thinks for a second before remembering the item in his hand, “-to give you this. Thought you might not mind returning it to Frigga for me.”

 

“You’re kidding me,” Angel looks down at the flask that Steve is encouraging her to take. She looks about herself as if searching for anyone else who might be witnessing the exchange that she clearly deems absurd. Then she points at the bus as it hisses loudly and pulls back onto the road. “You got off the bus nearly a half hour away from the hospital to give me a flask.”

 

“Believe it or not,” Steve uses the most charming smile he can manage in spite of how ridiculous he feels and when he continues it’s at a confidential sort of low, “I take my thermos affairs very seriously.”

 

Steve takes an inward sigh of relief when Angel finally laughs, a bubbly sort of cackle that he can’t help but chuckle along to.

 

“I’ve got an hour before I have to be at work,” Steve looks around them and spots a café that he passes daily but has never visited, “do you want to grab a cup of coffee with me?”  

 

He already starts making his way to the coffee shop in reverse, giving Angel a neglected look, leaving little room for her declination. He doesn’t have to get far before Angel relents with an exasperated sigh and roll of her eyes before ultimately following him.

 

*****

 

It isn’t so much awkward as it is different, Steve sitting across from Angel in the café. Angel is avoiding direct eye contact, arms wrapped around herself as she stares out the window in blank silence. Steve is terrible with children, he always has been. He’s a lot better with the impressionable, snot-nosed ones than he is with the opinionated pubescent generation. He finds young adults harder to read due to his own unfortunate upbringing, but even he isn’t stupid enough to assume that just because Angel is silent means she has nothing to say.

 

“Do you want to share a muffin?” Steve scans through the menu while sipping his latte, “I don’t know when last I had a really good muffin.”

 

Angel finally looks at Steve, frowning again. Since sliding into their cozy booth near the back, Steve had commented on the music streaming lightly through the cafe, the weather outside and the waiter who seemed more interested in Angel than actually getting their order. Apparently baked goods are what effectively get her attention.

 

“Are you going to keep pretending you’re not dying to ask me why I’m playing hooky?” Angel stares down at her untouched milkshake.     

 

“You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t feel comfortable sharing,” Steve reassures, feeling the need to lower his voice. It’s the tone he reserves for the harder more intimate moments he shares with his patients one on one. 

 

After another long moment of silence, Angel finally unwraps herself and fiddles with the tall glass in front of her instead, wordless indication that she just might be ready to open up a little.

 

“I’m not some rebel if that’s what you think,” Angel says softly. Steve’s kneejerk reaction would be to tell her she’s wrong, but he holds his tongue, worried any sort of interruption might cause her to close up again. “I’m just not cut out for it, the education thing. Hank, Armando, Sean, hell even Alex come home all the time with great grades and really good reports and no matter how hard I try, I just can’t do it. I do try; I’m just not smart enough. Not smart like them.”

 

Steve wants to reach over the table, cover her fidgeting hands with his own. But something tells Steve that this is more than she’s ever told anyone before and he wants her to get it all out before she notices she’s saying more than she’s probably usually willing to. Before she realizes that there are tears in her eyes.

 

“My own mother didn’t think I was good enough to keep,” Angel scoffs out a bitter chuckle, “I don’t want Frigga to see what my parents saw. I don’t want to disappoint anyone.”

 

“Angel,” Steve relents, because he can’t stand hearing how much she truly believes what she’s saying in her tone. Or seeing it in her eyes. “I’m sure your mother didn’t think th-”

 

“One of the last memories I have of her,” Angel interrupts and Steve purses his lips, hating how hers curve into a smile, “was when I was six years old. She would spend the longest time sitting with me in front of the mirror brushing my hair. She always told me how beautiful I was. She said that’s all I’d ever be good at, being beautiful, laying on my back and being paid for it. Like her.”

 

Steve feels the sourness of the notion settle in his stomach, genuine rage rising by how foolish predictions can taint impressionable spirits. Wondering how some people have any right to be around children at all let alone breed them themselves. Steve can resort to feeding Angel any number of words of encouragement or motivational quotes that the books he’s read and hours of watching Dr. Phil have been imbedded in his psyche. Instead, Steve decides to settle for the truth. 

 

“You know-” Steve taps Angel’s knuckles and the touch successfully makes her eyes snap to his. He slides his palm beneath her hand and lets them rest like that on the table. “- I also grew up in a foster home.”

 

“You’re so full of shit,” Angel actually chuckles, even as she moves away from Steve to wipe childishly at her runny nose and leaking eyes with her sleeves.

 

“No, I’m serious,” Steve smiles. “Both my parents died when I was really young, my mother being the last to go when I was a teenager so I was thrown into a home. And believe me; it wasn’t even slightly as lovely as yours. No one remotely as loving as Frigga.”

 

“What did you do?” Angel looks genuinely engrossed as she leans forward, elbows on the table.

 

“Well, my best friend’s parents eventually adopted me,” Steve admits, trying not to think too hard about the Starks right then. One Stark in particular still possesses the ability to make him lose his composure. “My point is; I often felt like you. Like an outcast, like I’d never be good enough, like I was inevitably going to disappoint the people who’d gone out of their way to take me in.  But the Starks never allowed me to dwell on my pessimism. Just like Frigga, I won’t pretend to know her very well, but something tells me she wouldn’t give up on you even if you came home with a dead body in a duffel bag and a weak alibi.”

 

Angel laughs again and Steve is happy to see her nod in silent agreement. Angel had obviously had no doubt in her mind about it, but Steve knows that sometimes hearing it out loud is necessary.

 

“I think your whole family will be prouder to see you swing and miss than not swing at all.”

 

Angel sighs, letting the words sink in as the first comfortable silence of the morning falls between the two of them. And Steve is rather proud of himself as he watches Angel sip her strawberry milkshake with a thoughtful smile, giggling around her straw whenever their eyes meet.

 

An idea comes to mind and Steve decides to act on it before the conventional Steve returns. Because one other thing that Steve will never admit to is the fact that he was only able to get this far with Angel due to the fact that in the farthest subconscious realms of his mentality, Steve never once stopped asking himself, “What would Thor do?”

 

“Let’s get out of here,” Steve suggests, finishing off his latte in two warm gulps.

 

“I can’t go to school now,” Angel’s previous apprehension noticeably returns. “I’m already so late; I’ll be in so much trouble.”

 

“Relax,” Steve flags the waiter down, “I’ve got something completely different in mind.”

 

*****

 

“You’re really smart, aren’t you,” Angel states, looking over the certificates on the wall in Steve’s office.

 

Steve tears his eyes away from his emails, briefly distracted from his morning routine to acknowledge the inquisitive young lady as she traces her manicured finger over the silver frames of his diplomas.   

 

“Did you always want to be a doctor?” Angel finally drops down in the chair across from Steve’s. It’s nice to see someone so relaxed in that spot for a change, as opposed to nervous patients trying to figure out how to explain to him the fact that they have a tingling sensation in their anus.

 

“Not actually,” Steve says honestly, “but, I was taken into a family full of doctors and just wanted to have some sort of connection with them all so I through myself into medicine.”

 

“Really?” Angel looks thoughtful as if she can relate before she smiles and asks, “What did you really want to do.”

 

Steve narrows his eyes at the challenging smirk on Angel’s face, slightly skeptical as he evaluates their new unexpected correlation thus far. But it has been based on nothing but honesty from the moment Steve spotted her on the bus and Steve actually doesn’t want to wreck that. So Steve reaches down into his bottom drawer, pulls out a sketchpad and places it in front of Angel. He places his hand down on the cover slamming it shut when she immediately makes a move to open it.

 

“Look at it at home,” Steve tries on an intimidating look, “And show no one.”

 

“Yes, Sir,” Angel grins, obediently sliding it into her schoolbag and zipping it shut, a curios twitch to her fingers when they return to the table.

 

As if on cue, there is a soft rap on the door, one that has become the small nurse’s signature. He doesn’t have to guess who it is before Nurse Wanda steps in. She seems caught off guard when she realizes Dr. Rogers is not alone, but quickly plasters on her trademark nervous smile as she places a folder down in front of Steve.

 

“You asked for me, Dr. Rogers.”

 

“Yes,” Steve opens the folder and scans through the details of his first appointment for the morning. It involves the patient complaining about lower abdominal pain, _pancreatitis_ immediately floats around in Steve’s head. “This is Angel, Angel, this is Nurse Wanda. Nurse Wanda, I would really appreciate it if you could show Angel around today while I’m busy with my patients.”

 

Steve looks up from his folder when his request is followed by nothing but an awkward silence. As expected, Wanda is looking at him as if he’s asked her to recite the Chinese alphabet backwards.

 

“I’m sorry, Dr. Rogers,” she swallows nearly audibly, “but that isn’t protocol. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’s against the-”

 

“Nurse Wanda,” Steve sighs, closes his document and circles the table. Steve doesn’t enjoy using his size and title to intimidate the nurses and the interns, but he won’t deny the fact that it really does come in handy at times like this. He offers Angel his hand and helps her out of her chair before guiding both young ladies to the door. “It will only be for a couple of hours and as long as you get her into some scrubs, she’ll pass off as an intern.”

 

“You really don’t have to do this,” Angel turns back to Steve when he’s coaxed them across the threshold and into the partially busy corridor. “I don’t want you getting into trouble because of me.”

 

“Then blend in,” Steve winks at Angel with what he hopes is a reassuring smile, “trust me, Angel, you might actually really enjoy yourself.”

 

Angel still looks unsure as Steve closes the door, and he sincerely hopes that his plan works. He sighs, making his way back to his chair when the door opens behind him.

 

“You have nothing to worry about,” Steve says without turning, “we won’t get caught.”

 

“ _W_ e certainly never did,” Tony’s voice makes Steve stop in his tracks.

 

He turns just in time to see Stark kick the door shut, cross his arms over his chest and smile his famous, ostentatious _Stark_ sneer.         

 

 

 

 

 

 

          


	6. Chapter 6

“I must admit,” Tony walks further into the offices completely ignoring Steve’s warning glare following his every move, “When Nurse Blabbermouth said you walked in this morning with a prostitute, I was expecting a Norwegian bodybuilder named Hans. Not a high school girl.”

 

“Don’t you dare refer to her as a prostitute,” Steve’s frown deepens.

 

“Barbara’s words, not mine.” Tony holds his hands up in defense. And despite how furious Steve is with Tony, he doesn’t doubt that he’s telling the truth. Nurse Barbara has collected enough written warnings for her uncouth conduct towards both patients and staff for her to lose all credibility in matters where her integrity is put on trial. 

 

“Tony,” Steve cringes when Stark takes the chair that Angel had just vacated less than a minute prior, “Is there a valid reason as to why you’re here, because I have a nine o’clock that I’d like to prepare for.”

 

“I miss you, Steven,” Tony says simply and Steve stops sorting out dossiers on his desk that were already in order.  

 

He knows Dr. Stark’s eyes are on him, but he refuses to look up, because Steve had been too busy making a fool of himself during the weekend to prepare for this inevitable confrontation. Steve had been so preoccupied with Thor that he’d neglected rehearsing counters to whatever Stark might throw at him when Stark decided Steve’s stern decision to end everything between them just didn’t suit his own twisted little world.

 

But within the few seconds of being alone with Tony, the minimal scenarios that his mind had been able to conjure up came nowhere near this simple admission. Steve so desperately needs to remind himself why he’d ended it in the first place before his heart overrules his brain and he starts to buy into Tony’s desperate attempt at salvaging the relationship they’ve been staging for far too long. The bad times; Steve has to dwell on the heartache that surpassed the pleasure and the emptiness that outweighed fulfillment every time. Steve has to think hard about how Tony’s daughters run to him, calling him Uncle as Pepper kisses him on the cheek and thanks him for agreeing to babysit moments before she leaves for a romantic dinner with a designer dress cladding her body and an Armanied Stark at her side.      

 

“I thought I made it perfectly clear when I-”

 

“I think you didn’t make a single damn thing clear at all,” Tony tilts his head, arrogance slipping into annoyance, “how the hell do we go from spending all month planning a week away together to you not even wanting to look at me.”    

 

Steve straightens, crossing his arms over his chest and staring straight into Tony’s eyes in an unwavering sort of way that catches them both off guard. Rendering Tony speechless is an act in itself that Steve has always thought entirely impossible. He’s about to take advantage of the alien silence between them, about to maintain the upper hand by adopting Stark’s nonchalant front while delivering his next detached remark. But as usual, Stark beats him to it, throwing him entirely off with a simple smile and thoughtful frown.

 

“It’s been so long, I almost forgot how pretty your eyes are.”

 

And then suddenly Steve can’t help but smile, a smile that turns into a soft chuckle. One that Tony obviously reads entirely wrong because tension visibly lifts from his shoulder.

 

“I forgot it smiles too,” Tony grinned.

 

“You know, I used to find your sarcasm charming,” Steve shakes his head, “the way you make everything seem so relaxed. It was one of my favorite things about you. Like all the times I told you I loved you and you’d never say it back. I think the last time I said it you looked me in the eye and said, _why wouldn’t you_.”

 

“Steven,” Tony rolls his eyes, “you know exactly how I feel about you.”

 

“I used to think you would do that because you didn’t know how to put into words how you really feel about me,” Steve ignores Tony entirely, because he has to get this out before emotions change his mind for him, “but now I realize it’s because you never felt the same way at all. You were and will always be incapable of feeling anything real for me.”

 

“Just because I never say it,” Tony stands, “doesn’t mean I don’t feel it. You know I’m just not like that, Steven.”

 

“Well I am, Tony,” Steve’s voice is a bit too loud and he has to take deep breath to calm himself before speaking again. “I’m like that. And not that you’ve ever bothered asking or even care, but I also want what you have. I want to get married and have a family, one that _I_ would actually really care about and would never hurt. And that’s something I will never even come close to having if I keep hanging onto my perpetual delusion that you may one day be capable of loving anyone but yourself.”   

 

“Don’t you dare put that on me,” Tony frowns, “I’m not the reason you don’t have it all. We both know it’s because you’re just as closeted as I am and I have been the only one there for you to indulge in your sexual needs exactly the same way you’ve been there for me. You’ve been enjoying it every bit as much as I have.”

 

“No, Tony,” Steve practically whispers, “I haven’t. I’ve never felt more alone than when I’m with you. I deserve better than this.”

 

Steve feels his heart thundering in his chest, the blend of pain and resentment clogging all arteries necessary for breathing. If Steve is honest with himself, this is how he’s always felt about Tony; a subconscious deep seated animosity for the simple fact that Tony held a theoretical stopwatch that determined the length of time Steve had to relish in Tony’s commitment. And Steve had stupidly held onto each ticking second, desperate to savor every moment until his time ran out, leaving Steve waiting pathetically for Tony to reset the timer.     

 

And Steve may never have allowed himself to accept this were it not for-

 

“There’s someone else, isn’t there?” Tony softly concludes, “You’ve met someone else.”

 

“You are unbelievable,” Steve sighs, not at all a stranger to Tony’s knack for deflecting blame with acute accusation. Steve hates himself for actually feeling slightly guilty. He has no reason to feel guilty. Thor should certainly not be any sort of reason for Steve to be feeling this guilty.   

 

“This isn’t you,” Tony shakes his head analytically, “I know you, Steven. I’ve known you forever and it isn’t you talking right now. Who is he?”

 

Steve wants to strangle Tony and tell him there is no one else. He wants to tell his lifelong friend that perhaps Tony never really knew him at all because in Tony’s world only his needs and wants and desires held any importance. Steve feels as though he’s in a therapy session in his own head, one he’d been putting off for far too long for in case he’d come to just such conclusions. But he’s in too deep now and there’s no turning back and Steve is just about to offload everything else.

 

But there’s a knock on the door.

 

“Oh good, you’re both here,” Dr. Rhodes’ pokes his head through the door after Steve somehow manages to croak out permission for him to enter. Then Rhodes frowns, looking between the two of them. “Am I interrupting something?”

 

“No,” Steve tries to sound neutral but doesn’t attempt a smile. It would give everything away. “No, we’re done here.”

 

“Okay,” Rhodes stretches out the word, clearly not the only one sensing the finality in Steve’s statement, but obviously taking it the wrong way. Steve guesses Rhodes presumes it’s another one of their weekly disagreements, the type the boys label as their ‘lover’s tiffs’. If only they really knew. “Just wanted to make sure you guys don’t forget Bucky’s surprise party tonight. Seven o’clock sharp.”

 

Steve had forgotten entirely about Bucky’s surprise party.

 

“I actually wanted to talk to you about that,” Steve commends himself for pulling of the uncharacteristic lie that smoothly as he makes his way to the door. He’s not surprised when Rhodes buys it, brightening up when Steve throws and arm over his shoulder and guides him into the hallway. Rhodes has been planning this for weeks.

 

But even as Steve pretends to hold up his end of conversation with Rhodes, he’s only halfway involved. Because it’s going to be humanly impossible to erase the look on Tony’s face as Steve walked away from him for the first time ever.

 

*****

“How much longer ‘til he gets here,” Steve asks.

 

“Any minute now,” Rhodes confirms guardedly as if they’re secret agents on a covert mission, “his gym buddy tricked him into thinking a free spa treatment is a birthday special for members.”

 

“Great diversion, but remind me again why _I’m_ giving the speech,” Steve knocks back another beer as he watches the karaoke bar fill up with yet more people.

 

The venue has been booked for the private party, but Steve doesn’t see the necessity in going through all of that trouble since half the town has been invited, because Bucky is naturally friends with everyone. However, Steve does agree that it is the perfect place to celebrate their friend’s birthday. Not only it being Bucky’s favorite bar, but also the very place Bucky was discovered by an agent one night three years ago while up on stage singing the cover of his favorite _Nirvana_ song.

 

Steve still gets a kick out of waking up to one of his friend’s chart toppers on the radio.

 

“Because you’re his best friend,” Rhodes says it in between greeting guests and reminding them it’s an open bar.

 

“You say that about me and Tony, Tony says that about you and me,” Steve frowns, “I have a feeling you guys just stick it on me because I’m too nice to say no.”

 

“No,” Rhodes looks offended before finally giving Steve his full attention. “It’s because you’re the glue that holds us all together. You, me, Tony, Bucky; do you think we would’ve all stayed friends this long if it wasn’t for you?”

 

Rhodes pats Steve on the back before slipping away to mingle, leaving Steve at the bar to reflect on the truth in his friend’s avowal.

 

It was true, the basis of their friendship had been a series of chance events that began and ended with Steve. Every day after kindergarten, Steven spent his afternoons in the Stark’s mansion while his mother kept the residence. Conceited little Stark fell victim to Steve’s magnetism and soon Tony was Steve’s after-school best friend. Steve became best friends with Bucky on his first day of high school when some of the bigger boys stole Steve’s lunch and Bucky got it back after issuing a series of black and blue eyes. James Rhodes had been Steve’s first roommate in college, the two of them finding common ground in their mutual disinterest in frat parties, binge drinking and strip clubs. Bunking together transpired into studying together and soon the two were inseparable, annoying Tony and Bucky by going to museums and galleries as opposed to raves and concerts.

 

And so the three of them were only brought together by one common interest which was their mutual desire to enjoy Steve’s company.

 

 Steve wonders if anything will ever be the same now that he and Tony are over and as if right on cue, Tony walks in with Pepper on his arm. Steve flags the bartender down for another beer.  

 

“Whenever I get invited to these things,” Pepper pulls Steve in for a sincere hug as she plants a kiss on his cheek, red dress as glittery as her smile, “I’m always most worried about you looking better than me.”

 

“And he always does,” there’s an eerie sort of undertone when Tony grins, patting Steve’s lower back in a way that could pass off as brotherly if it had come from anyone other than Tony stark. Steve has to fight hard not to flinch away when it remains there, because this is typical Tony. If Tony can’t get into Steve’s pants he’ll sure as hell enjoy remaining under Steve’s skin.  

 

“See,” Pepper hits her husband’s arm, “this is why my own mother still asks me why I settled for Tony instead of marrying you.”

 

Steve laughs tightly, looking after her almost desperately as she floats away to socialize. He isn’t the least bit surprised when Tony orders a scotch and idles far too closely beside him with his back against the bar.

 

“The least we can do is pretend to be civil with one another for Bucky’s sake,” Tony takes a hearty sip from his drink. Knowing Tony, it isn’t his first.

 

“Well let’s not exhaust it before he actually arrives,” Steve shrugs, impassive smile stretching his suddenly dry lips. For the second time that day, Steve could kiss Rhodes for his excellent timing when Rhodes chooses that moment to step right in the line of tension pulsing between the two former lovers.

 

“They’re right outside,” Rhodes is beaming, coaxing them away from the bar and closer to the entrance where most of the guests have already started to gather around, clearly having already been informed about the birthday boy’s nearness. And despite the fact that Tony is still at his side, Steve feels himself smile genuinely for the first time that evening when Bucky walks in. Because the moment they yell surprise and Bucky’s initial fright morphs into sheer joy, it’s hard not to indulge in the natural euphoria of the moment.

 

Steve’s excitement quickly morphs into shock of his own when he takes in his friend’s large companion, when he realizes that the gym buddy that had been stalling Bucky with made-up spa vouchers was none other than Thor.  

*****

“I told you guys not to do anything for me,” Bucky is bouncing boyishly as he hugs Steve and Rhodes at the same time, encouraging a reluctant Tony to join in on the embrace. Bucky has managed to plough his way through most of his guests relatively unharmed. Just a few too many smacks on the back, punches on the arm and several different shades of lipstick staining his cheeks.

 

Steve honestly wants to focus all his attention on Bucky, but his eyes are locked with Thor’s who at least has the decency to look just as taken aback by how small the world is as Steve feels. But, of course Thor is the mystery gym buddy that Bucky has been spending more and more afternoons with. Thor is the epitome of fitness on legs, Steve accepts, knowing exactly the breadth and solidity of every expanse of flesh under his absurd Hawaiian button-down and even tackier khaki shorts.

 

“Thor,” Bucky’s back at the big guy’s side, “you’ve met Rhodes. This is Tony and this is-”

 

“Steven,” Thor practically purrs in a way that Makes Steve’s face flush, Bucky’s eyebrow raise and both of Tony’s furrow.       

 

“Theodore,” Steve matches Thor’s smile almost too easily.

 

“I keep telling you, my friends call me Thor.”

 

“And I keep reminding you, we’re not friends.”

 

“You know each other?” Bucky questions.

 

“He’s my doctor,” Thor says, raising his cast which, in addition to the terrible graffiti, is now also sporting little pink butterfly stickers. It’s obviously Raven’s doing, Steve thinks, annoyed by the fact that he even remembers the little pixie’s name. Even though both Steve and Tony had just been introduced, Thor’s affectionate gaze remains on his doctor alone and Steve genuinely enjoys the attention. He’s certain it’s solely due to the fact that at the corner of his eye, he notices Stark’s self-control starting to slip as he looks between the two of them.

 

“There will be ample time for pleasantries later,” Rhodes is a lot less confused than Tony and Bucky, obviously more interested in the agenda by the way he shoves the microphone against Steve’s chest, “but you need to do the speech.”

 

“Wait, he’s giving the speech?” Tony is downright scowling as his eyes dart from Rhodes to Steve and then stay on Thor menacingly.

 

“They’re best friends,” Rhodes shrugs like before.

 

“They’re best friends,” Stark chuckles, successfully making the moment awkward as he shakes his head at no one in particular even though all eyes are suddenly on him.

 

“Well, yeah,” Bucky’s arm comes around Steve’s shoulder in a bit of a playful headlock. It’s always seemed as though Bucky has felt inwardly obligated to ease whatever tension Stark so effortlessly created. “I _have_ known him longer than any of you monkeys. We know everything about each other.”

 

“You know everything about each other,” Tony suddenly looks Steve straight in the eyes; “he knows everything single itty bitty thing about you, Steven? All the important stuff?”

 

“Tony,” Rhodes snaps his fingers in front of Tony’s face as if that will snap him out of whatever trance that Rhodes is clearly misreading Stark is in, “you’ll have plenty of time to cry about this and I promise to even hold your hand and braid your hair as you do. But it’s Monday night and people just want to drink and head home, so can Steve please be spared the melodramatics for now.”  

 

Even if Tony had been planning on pushing the matter further, Steve is momentarily spared the tirade when Rhodes takes the microphone from Steve, flicking it on and commandeering everyone’s attention with his animated greeting to all guests, praise to the birthday boy and introduction to Steve’s speech.  Rhodes somehow manages to accomplish this in one charismatic sentence leaving Steve with less than thirty seconds to figure out exactly what he wants to say.

 

Steve could have sworn that he’s been unreadily prepared for this speech since Rhodes had asked him to do it a month ago. He’d known there was no need to write anything down or overthink the matter because there was absolutely nothing complicated about his and Bucky’s bond. Or how he felt about Bucky. Or what they knew about each other. But as the microphone is handed back to him and the encouraging applause begins to subside, everything Steve had thought would come to mind on the spot completely vanishes, because Tony is glaring at him. And he is glaring back at Tony. And in the mix of Tony’s hidden challenge and vacant accusations, Steve realizes that Dr. Stark will always have one strong hold on him if he doesn’t let go of what the two of them have shared for so long.

 

“I remember the first time I met our Bucky here,” Steve squeezes his friend’s shoulder, wondering if Bucky can feel his hand shake even though his eyes are smiling as brightly as all of the other pairs on him. “We were in the eighth grade yet he still managed to beat up three twelve graders to protect my ass and my chicken salad sandwich which we ultimately ended up sharing.”

 

Steve would have taken comfort in the light laughter from the crowd were it not for the fact that he is completely unable to look away from Tony Stark and his wolfish smirk.

 

“I had no other choice but to become his best friend because he didn’t give me any other,” Steve chuckles along with everyone this time, feeling no less tense. “You think I’m joking, but I’m not. He literally grabbed me by the collar and told me I’m stuck with him. Later on I found out that it was a move that he learnt from his first girlfriend in kindergarten.”

 

“She told me that’s how her mother proposed to her father,” Bucky speaks into the microphone and shrugs, gaining more laughter from the audience.

 

“And since that day, Buck has been my best friend,” Steve nods thoughtfully, “my amigo. My confidant. We’ve shared our dreams and hopes and desires. We’ve kept no secrets from each other, not even the really embarrassing ones like the time he peed in his pants while getting his photo taken on Santa’s lap.”

 

There’s more laughter and a few gasps, a fake look of death from Bucky.

 

“And that wasn’t the embarrassing part,” Steve whispers the next part as if nobody is supposed to hear even though he is still speaking into a volume enhancer, “the part he doesn’t want anyone finding out is the fact that he was seventeen when this happened.”

 

Steve offers Bucky an apologetic smile as Bucky makes a show of denying the matter above the hysterics.

 

“But jokes aside,” Steve waits a second for silence to once again fill the pub, “Bucky has been the best, most loyal and most honest person I’ve ever known. But, unfortunately I haven’t been the same way with him. In fact, I’ve kept one of the biggest secrets, the biggest part of my life from him.”

 

“I already know about the dead stripper in Mexico,” Bucky speaks into the mic again and this time Steve is the only one in the room not smiling with the exception of Tony. Tony looks as though he’s about to drop his glass, rightfully predicting where Steve is going with this speech.

 

This only makes Steve certain he’s doing the right thing. It makes him brave enough to go through with it.

 

“The only thing that Bucky doesn’t know about me is the fact that I’m gay,” Steve says, voice not breaking like he thought it would. The earth not swallowing him whole even though the entire bar is now ominously still. It’s so quiet that Steve can hear the ticking of the vintage grandfather clock near the equally outdated jukebox. But it’s done. And there is no turning back. A thought that sits awfully in Steve’s gut when the realization of what he’s just done really dawns on him.

 

Although Steve feels his entirety shatter, he raises his beer bottle in toast and forces a broken smile.

 

“Happy birthday, Bucky,” Steve announces before handing the microphone to his abnormally speechless (former) best friend. His throat is tight and his palms are sweaty and he’s in desperate need of fresh air before he passes out.

 

And so Steve walks right up to the one man who has been saving him repeatedly for the past three days.

 

“Please get me out of here,” Steve whispers to Thor, thoroughly relieved when Thor doesn’t think twice before placing a protective hand on Steve’s back and navigating them through the stagnant crowd towards the exit doors.  

  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope you enjoyed. Might fit in one more chapter tonight... lets see how it goes. As always, comments are LOOOOVE!!!! Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You are all awesome with the kudos and comments.
> 
> Thank you for reading

Steve’s face is in his hands resting carelessly against the dashboard of Thor’s moving vehicle, making it harder for him to draw in the deep breaths he so desperately needs. The cold breeze of the open car is doing nothing to sooth Steve’s burning nerves, nor does knowing that with each easy turn Thor takes, distance is growing between Steve and what can easily be defined as the biggest mistake of his life. 

Well respected, ‘Dr. Rogers’ just came out. And not only to his closest friends, but to the owner of the laundromat he goes to three times a week and the baker at the deli he frequents who makes the best cherry Danishes he’s ever tasted and the traffic cop who controls the flow whenever the red light on Georgia Street decides to stop working during rush hour and practically anyone who obviously knows someone who knows him which will result in everyone knowing by morning. 

Although the look on Tony’s face seemed worth it at the time, the reality of the impending aftermath makes for an immediate and brutal sobering. The fleeting triumph of Stark finally having absolutely no hold on him is now a growing gallon of bile in the pit of his stomach. 

“So,” Steve barely hears Thor over the blood pounding in his ears, “I take it that this is another one of the no-go areas, right up there with what made you change your mind about –” 

The glare Steve gives Thor is cold enough to chill even his own blood.

“Point taken,” Thor says, somehow managing to sound sincerely apologetic even though his smile is too unforgivingly excited for such a devastating moment in Steve’s life. Steve is granted a full minute of silence before, “I must thank you for what you did for my sister today.” 

Steve raises his head from his hands once again, this time his face a mask of complete confusion. 

“For Angel,” Thor clarifies with a slight chuckle, “whatever it is you did truly put a skip back in her step. I have not seen her so elated in far too long.”

“How did you kn-” Steve frowns thoughtfully, somewhat disappointed since he’d been certain, from Angel’s behavior, that what they had shared that day would remain their little secret. “She told you?” 

“She didn’t breathe a word of it,” Thor says quickly to relieve Steve of his apparent doubts, “she didn’t have to. I’m her big brother, I just know these things. Intuitive.”

Steve raises a skeptical brow. 

“I had a hunch that she was avoiding school so I snooped through her backpack,” Thor relents easily as if he had no intention of keeping it a secret any longer, even if Steve hadn’t called his bluff. “It didn’t take long for me to stumble upon your sketchpad. And don’t give me that look; any concerned guardian would have done the same. I had to make certain she wasn’t getting herself into any sort of trouble before approaching her with my knowledge of her defiance. ” 

“How did you know it was mine?” Steve asks stupidly, wracking his brain to recall if he’d ever been clumsy enough to write his own name anywhere on or in the worn out drawing book he’s been holding onto in secret for nearly a decade. 

“I’d recognize those illustrations anywhere,” Thor shrugs, “I’ve spent most of my time knowing Bucky marveling at the artistry inked into his left arm. When he always spoke proudly about how it was all of his best friend’s original artwork I sincerely had no way of knowing it was you until tonight where I put two and two together.”

“Oh,” Steve slumps back in the chair, defeated, “I hope you know I don’t condone her skipping classes and I don’t want her to think it’s okay. I just felt it would be better if she spent the day someplace safe while I figured out what my next move would be. I’m s-”

Steve doesn’t get to finish his apology because Thor is laughing. It’s full-bodied and throaty and almost contagious until Steve remembers Thor’s laughing at him. 

“If anything, Steven, I am overjoyed that it was you,” Thor has time to give Steve his full attention while the light is red. “Before heading out this afternoon I caught her lettering D.R 4 A.S on the cover of her math book. As happy I was by the fact that she was actually attempting to even pretend to do homework for once, I knew exactly what that smile on her face meant. And I’m glad it is you and not some other random predator looking to prey on her youthful curiosity.” 

“Wait, are you saying-” 

“She fancies you,” Thor confirms cheerfully as if it doesn’t belong near the top of the list of all the things that have gone terribly wrong over the past few days. 

Steve’s eyes go wide. 

“No, no, that wasn’t supposed to happen,” Steve shakes his head, “I didn’t mean to mislead her. I would never do anything like that - would you stop laughing.” 

“Steven,” Thor sobers, “she is a previously renounced teenage girl and you are an explicitly gorgeous man who extended kindness and paid her a lot of attention. Last week it was the young man at the picture show who gave her extra butter on her popcorn and the week before that it was the boy who walked her home from the library with his umbrella held up over her head so that she could stay dry while he was soaked to the bone.  
“I’ve been dealing with these fleeting, platonic notions of love since she became a teenager and we’re lucky that that’s all it ever has been. But one day she might stumble across a man not as noble as her past suitors, and so if you are the chosen one for this week then I don’t have to worry about answering the front door with an axe for a full seven days.” 

“You still say picture show?” Steve asks, partly because he sees the logic behind what Thor is saying and partly because who the hell speaks so archaically in this day and age. Mostly because Thor has become too serious for Thor and Steve – clearly suffering from some sort on mental breakdown - sort of really misses his smile. 

Steve shouldn’t feel so satisfied when his inquisition manages to provoke that signature wide grin. 

“If I ask you to a picture show,” Thor’s voice is lower, “would you deny me the pleasure of your company.” 

And Steve is taken completely off guard, never having once been asked on a date before. Steve isn’t sure that people even do such anymore, being so accustomed to nonchalant messages from Stark stating when and where they should fuck and how much time they had to get the job done. Steve isn’t even really sure he has any sort of right to take Thor’s question in a courting fashion considering how it was worded as a question within a question. Steve wonders how lost he really must be right then if he’s actually entertaining the idea of going on a date with this large blond enigma. But the car horn behind them suddenly snaps them both from the electric stillness they’d been sharing and Steve can only wonder how long they’d been idle at a green light. 

“After tonight, what I can really use right now is a drink,” Steve declares by way of changing the subject. He looks around the town, anywhere but at Thor. He can’t afford Thor the opportunity to repeat his question. “Where the hell are we, anyway?” 

“Forget the drink,” Thor shifts into gear, “when was the last time you had something to eat?” 

Steve is one second away from answering before he realizes he has absolutely no idea. His pause seems answer enough for Thor who simply smiles and makes an illegal U-turn on the thankfully mostly empty road. 

*****

“Being a big brother and working at the bar every Friday night doesn’t pay the bills,” Thor had said and Steve had rolled his eyes. As skeptical as he’d been to enter the back door of the darkened bistro, the alley they were standing in looked way more unsafe than anything that could possibly be waiting inside. 

“So you’re a one-star restaurants burglar on Monday nights,” Steve had given Thor one last glare before stepping in, realizing how that was now the second door Thor had held open for him. Not that Steve was counting or anything. 

“Not exactly,” Thor had chuckled and when he closed the door he successfully extinguished the tiny bit of light that the creepy alley had been offering. Steve’s pulse quickened as his eyes refused to adjust to the blackness. Primal instinct had him reaching back for Thor, for any sort of familiar purchase whatsoever. 

“Thor?” Steve had whispered as if the darkness required quiet. His hand met thin cotton and a long spine, if his palm had flattened it was solely for self-clarification that what he was feeling was, in fact, a human being’s back. 

“Are you afraid of the dark, Steven?” Steve had practically felt the low rumble of Thor’s voice vibrate against his fingertips like steel tires on gravel. And in the dark it had suddenly felt as though his senses had heightened, because Steve could smell mild coconut and a rosy sort of oil, clear indication that Thor had really been having spa treatment with Bucky earlier in the day. But as obvious as the sweet aroma was, no amount of creams had been able to fully extinguish the potent, male scent that simply was Thor. 

Steve had been unable to stop himself from picturing Thor lying face down on a massage table with nothing but a towel draped him right where the mounds of his ass began to rise and not quite covering the entire length of his thick thighs. Steve had been imagining the thundery groans of pleasure he could elicit if he’d be given the opportunity press his fingers deep into all the right pressure points, misusing his years of training for his own satisfaction. Steve had been so intoxicated by it all that he hadn’t really noticed the warning beeping of the alarm until Thor punched a few buttons and flicked the light on. 

The light, with it, brought reality and Steve had immediately stepped away. Despite the area, the kitchen Steve found himself in was incredibly immaculate and well equipped; the same type of kitchen that Steve spends random nights off in front of the television watching Gordon Ramsey rip apart. 

“The boss was nice enough to close three hours early tonight so that I could cook something special for Bucky and his three closest friends,” Thor walked through the kitchen like he belonged there, further amazing Steve with second that ticked between them. “Since it doesn’t look as though that is going to happen, we might as well not let this anomaly go to waste.”

And then Steve had followed Thor around the kitchen, a safe distance away as Thor preheated plates and readied his station. 

“I just remembered, I only have one hand,” Thor had pointed out sadly in the worst rendition of misery Steve had ever seen. So bad that Steve couldn’t help but laugh until Thor announced, “you’re going to have to have to literally lend me a hand.” 

And it had taken a full ten minutes of refusal from a very stubborn Rogers before he finally relented.  
“If I cook,” Steve had finally taken a step closer, “you have to take over my next colonoscopy.”

“Aren’t you still a little too you to be concerned about your-”

“I didn’t mean on me,” Steve had rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore how Thor’s eyes were suddenly fascinated by the general area below his belt, “just tell me what I have to do.” 

Steve had never made pasta that wasn’t ready within two minutes before, and there he was being handed olive oil and eggs and flour. His resistance slipped away easily as his youthful resolve to prove that he could quickly took over. It was the same determination that drove him to bulk up and join the football team. Soon the ingredients stopped being a ball of infuriating stickiness and Steve was kneading something for the first time ever. 

He was needing something else when Thor added his good hand into the mix, standing awkwardly with his injured arm behind his back. Standing so close that every time Steve ploughed his fingers into the dough the movement caused his upper arm to brush against Thor’s chest. Steve ignored the ridges of muscle beneath the white double-breasted jacket Thor had put on; identical to the one Thor had buttoned Steve into. 

Steve was relieved when he was given the fun task of rolling the dough through the pasta machine while Thor busied himself by prepping for the sauce. But Thor waited until Steve was done, making Steve play the biggest role in the frying of the butter and crisping of the mint, ultimately even the finally tossing of the entire concoction until finally instructing Steve to drizzle it with percorino and freshly ground black pepper. 

Steve had been enjoying the preparation so much that it’s only now as Thor begins to plate two dishes that Steve remembers that they’d actually been cooking with the intention of eating. 

“I did this,” Steve owns it triumphantly, the smell alone making his stomach demand s taste. Thor’s plating skills making it delicious for the eyes too. He reaches out for a fork when Thor fishes two from a utensil cabinet, but Thor snaps his hand away. 

“Not here,” Thor’s smile is reassuring before he slips into a pantry, only to emerge with a bottle of wine. “Can you grab the food?” 

Is Thor’s final instruction before he walks away and disappears behind a set of swinging doors, leaving Steve to just assume he’s supposed to follow. 

When Steve passes through the doors, he finds himself in the dimly lit dining area; the heavy dark oaks and velvet reds making the small bistro feel warm, intimate even without the fireplace burning or the candles on every table alight. Steve watches as Thor chooses the table for two in the center of the room to set the wine and utensils on. He watches as Thor produces a long matchstick from seemingly nowhere, striking it and bringing it to the wick of the candle in its glass half-globe. He looks on as the tiny flame causes beautiful orange light to dance over every square angle and bearded slope of Thor’s face. Golden hair falling out of its careless restraint, strands falling over his shoulders and in his eyes. 

And in this light, Thor is absolutely beautiful. Thor is kind and selfless and a wonderful big brother to siblings who aren’t even really his own. He’s smart and fun and unfairly attractive. 

Then Thor pulls a chair out and smiles expectantly at Steve. And Steve places both dishes down on the table when he’s close enough, unexpectedly wrapping his arms around Thor’s large shoulders. And it just feels so right not denying the dangerous attraction anymore, one that immediately turns to complete mortification when he leans up to press his lips against Thor’s, but is pushed away before their lips can even touch. 

“Steven” Thor’s hands are large on Steve’s weak shoulders, cruel as they keep Steve at bay, “I’m terribly sorry, but I think you have misread all of this. I had absolutely no intentions of-”

“No,’ Steve interrupts quickly because he doesn’t think he can handle hearing the rejection out loud. Not right now. Not from Thor. “No it’s my fault. I should go.” 

“Steven,” Thor calls after him as he makes his escape on shaky legs. “Steven, can we talk about this.” 

“I shouldn’t have been here in the first place,” Steve says more to himself but loud enough for Thor to hear. “It’s getting late. I have work in the morning.” 

“At least let me drive you ho-”

“No, Thor,” Steve snaps, wrestling his way out of the white coat before shoving it against Thor’s chest. If it’s a little harder than necessary it’s because Steve hadn’t realized Thor had covered ground between them so quickly. “Just…just away, okay.” 

And this time when Steve walks away, Thor doesn’t follow him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all you lovely people!!! Once again, thank you for the kudos and comments!!! Unedited as of yet so please poke me if you find anything off...its nearly 12am here :-P

Steve spent the entire cab drive home trying desperately to block out the events of the day which only resulted in him meticulously reliving every single moment of it, right down the annoying bit of spinach stuck in his third patient’s teeth. The more he tried to forget Angel and her pointless crush, Tony and his inability to feel and Thor’s blatant rejection, the more pronounced each scene resounded in his head. 

When Steve is finally at his front door, the relief he thought he’d feel with the nearness of hibernation disappears the second he steps in. Because not only are the lights in his apartment on, the television is too. 

Steve doesn’t bother arming himself with the baseball bat he keeps at the door for such scenarios, his chosen weapon of protection since the series of burglaries in the less than fabulous building. He should be more concerned about the probability of being murdered as he walks inside, but the idea simply feels as though it might be the highlight of his day. Jumping off the roof immediately feels absolutely essential when he is met by two familiar, glowering faces. 

This is officially the first time Steve has ever regretted sharing anything with his friends when he eyes the traitorous spare keys on the couch between Bucky and Rhodes. 

Steve isn’t sure if it’s the way both his friends rise to the feet the second they notice that Steve has joined them, Bucky crossing his arms over his chest and Rhodes shoving his hands into his pockets, both stances reeking indignant authority. But something about the intruding confrontation makes Steve break down before a single word is uttered. 

Because Steve has always known that this day would come when his world crashes down all around him. When he loses Tony and the rest of his friends, is shunned by others because of cards that were dealt to him, a full black deck in a game he’d never even wanted to play in the first place. 

And it isn’t just his ill-fated sexuality that’s kept him distraught for years; it’s the fact that it only became apparent to him shortly after the last of his biological family passed away. Steve will never know if his father would have still called him son as they tossed a baseball in the park or if his mother would have still straightened his collar and told him he looked handsome if the date he was about to go on was with a nice young man instead of a girl. Steve will never know if the people who were expected to love him unconditionally by default would have still seen any importance in accepting him had they known the real him. 

Not knowing any of this caused Steve to question his own acceptance of himself, a hard thing to do when thrown into the adolescent world of chauvinists and their derogatory attacks aimed at people like him. 

Watching Tony jump from girl to girl and evading Bucky’s pressured double dates simply made him certain that his friends would never accept such. The homophobic slurs thrown around the locker room after every football practice reminded him of how it would be frowned upon no matter how muscled he’d become or how many touchdowns he scored. And even after reaching college, an altogether new stage of his life that had promised liberalism and experimentation had been quickly shutdown for Steve when a few offhanded comments as to why he and Rhodes spent so much time alone in their dormitory together had nearly caused them their friendship. 

But the straw that broke the camel’s back came during Steve’s second year in medical school after a newspaper article circulated among the medical students and became the heated topic of discussion for nearly a full semester. The article about how an openly gay doctor was ripped of his license after his patient threatened to sue the hospital for not informing him of the elderly man’s sexual preference. The case ignited lively debates as the trial went on. Questions ranged from whether or not gay doctors should be allowed to handle patients of the same sex, to if it should be obligatory for doctor’s to give such information when applying for work. And of all the intelligence Steve was surrounded by on a day to day basis, he was horrified by the fact that the majority of his peers sided with the hardnosed journalist who’d stated; “I’d rather die than get the breath of life from a faggot.” 

Still somehow, Steve had managed to survive all of it albeit barely. Something he’d thought would become tremendously easier when he finally had Tony on his side. But once again, Steve had been wrong, and the pain of being alone while with someone who had everyone else proved to be even more brutal than the years he’d suffered by himself. And that night, Steve had reached his boiling point, but not quite his breaking point. A point he reaches only now. Because being angered to the point of outing himself was one thing, but met with the inevitable reality of actually living what he’s been trying so hard to evade all his life is another. 

Steve falls into the armchair and covers his face with his hands, his social life, his career and his existence beneath his feet. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve manages to get out when either Rhodes or Bucky decides to turn off the television. He isn’t sure because one hand is over his painful eyes and the other is messing his already tousled locks. “I should have told you. I wanted to tell you, but I knew how you would take it. I knew how everyone would take it, but I can’t change the fact that I’m gay. I wish I could, I just can’t.” 

“What the fuck are you going on about?” Bucky pushes Steve’s head back with the tips of his fingers, forcing Steve to look up at his still frowning face. “Why the fuck would you apologize for being gay, do you think I give a shit?” 

All Steve can do is blink up at Bucky dumbly, not a single word coming to him. 

“What you should be apologizing for is ruining my damn birthday party,” Bucky goes on. And past the frown, Steve cannot - for the life of him - believe he sees a ghost of a smile curl the corners of Bucky’s lips. “I spent all day under the assumption that every single damn person had forgotten my birthday, then I finally get a party and you have to go and out yourself. Do you realize that that’s all people were talking about the entire night instead of me. I’m the goddamn rock star birthday boy.” 

“I’m sorry?” Steve stutters the question, unsure of what else to do. 

“For?” Buck practically taps his foot, tattooed hand on his hip. It’s all pretty comical. 

“Stealing your thunder?”

“That’s more like it,” Bucky is finally grinning widely, easily as he pulls Steven off of the couch and into that familiar brotherly embrace Steve had been certain he’d never get to experience again. The hard pats on the back and hair tousle are just added bonuses as Bucky rocks them from foot to foot. “You owe me another party, brother.” 

“Just like that?” Steve asks, staring into Bucky’s eyes as they hold each other at arm’s length. Steve eyes questioning with bemused incredulity and Bucky’s answering with affectionate sincerity, clearly knowing exactly what Steve’s question really means. Because they’ve been friends for far too long and apparently still are. 

“Just like that,” Bucky confirms unnecessarily, already taking Steve into a headlock that would have aggravated his migraine if it still existed. 

Rhodes clears his throat causing the two friends to stop roughhousing and remember that it isn’t only them in the room. 

“I think he’s also still waiting for his apology,” Bucky whispers to Steve, even though Rhodes can clearly hear him and the impatience Rhode’s is wearing is faker than the fur rug he’s standing on. 

“Oh, right,” Steve whispers back, finding it somewhat easy to play along. “For what, exactly?”

“For what?” Rhodes raises a brow, “do you have any idea how long it took me to put that damn party together? I spent three weeks alone trying to find an Indian, a construction worker and a policeman to sing YMCA and you weren’t even there to see it. That was our anthem, Steven.” 

Steve and Bucky can’t help but laugh, Steve forcing on an apologetic look as he walks over and hugs Rhodes who soon too can’t keep from laughing. 

It’s nearly an hour later when they are all lounging around, feet on the table, sipping their nightcaps that Steve realizes the world isn’t entirely over. They’re laughing at stand-up comedians on Comedy Central while reminiscing past birthday flops, never once bringing up the fact that Steve is gay. In fact, Steve manages to forget all of the evening’s troubles until Bucky breaks the sociable silence. 

“Too bad Tony couldn’t be here,” Bucky rests his head on Rhode’s lap and his feet on Steve’s, taking extreme advantage of his final minutes of birthday privileges. “He can be a horrible bastard but it’s just never quite the same without him. Without all of us together.” 

“Well, he’s a family man,” Rhodes shrugs noncommittedly, “he has his priorities.” 

Bucky concurs with a raise of his coffee mug, but Steve remains silent. Steve isn’t quite sure how he feels yet about the fact that he is officially no longer even remotely one of Tony Stark’s priorities. 

*****

Considering the recent series of events, Steve’s day is going peculiarly smoothly. 

He’d walked into work that morning with Dr. Rhodes by his side, the two of them smiling through cheerful banter of how Rhodes’ Schwannoma patient is responding remarkably well to her chemotherapy. Swapping happy stories has always been a rarity within the tall walls of the hospital, and so it was no shock to Steve that the nurses naturally fed off of their high spirits. They greeted the pair with smiles and engaged them in light conversation, taking full advantage of the little time they had before beds started rolling into the Emergency Room and all delight became a distant memory. 

Steve made it to his office without a single word uttered or hint made at his newly publicized homosexuality. 

In fact, since the previous night spent with Bucky and Rhodes, that morning Steve had been feeling so rejuvenated and reborn, so positive that he’d decided to slip into his white doctor’s coat for the first time since receiving it on his final day of internship. It was a little snug at the shoulders and tight across the back, but Steve had still turned heads as he floated down corridors and threw himself into patient after patient. 

Steve had only later been reminded about the previous night when old Mrs. Norton went on and on about her pediatrician son who was single and apparently incredibly handsome. Her intentions were only further made clear when she stubbornly left his business card, and his home phone number and his personal email address just in case. 

*****

Before all of this started, the absence of Dr. Stark for half a day while knowingly under the same roof would have left a dull ache in Steve’s chest. A sinking feeling in his gut. A void in his totality. Yet here Steve is, thinking twice about making his way to the cafeteria, not wanting to ruin his nearly perfect day by running into an equally starving Tony. 

But Steve is quickly reminded of how perfect days are not meant to exist in his world when the door opens after two soft knocks and the last person that Steve is ready to see sticks his head inside. 

Once satisfied with the fact that Steven is alone, Thor steps further in and Steve’s eyes narrow on their own accord. Because no grown man has any right to look that good wearing a high ponytail. 

It’s the first time Steve has seen Thor in anything other than shorts, the long blue jeans fitting him almost spitefully. Hugging narrow hips and muscled thighs, just loose enough around the ankles of his boots. If that isn’t enough, Thor has traded his usual choice of overly printed punk rock t-shirts for a simple grey top. The long sleeves are rolled up enough to show off the hideous cast and its opposing hairy forearm, while the neckline dips so low that it exposes most of Thor’s chest. The fabric is tissue thin, so much so that it reveals all the contours of muscle and his distractingly hard nipples. 

Steve curses the conditioned chill of the hospital. 

Nurse Wanda slips into the office just as Thor opens his mouth to explain his unwelcome visit, her face slightly flustered as if she’d been running to catch up. 

“I’m sorry, Dr. Rogers,” Wanda is already pushing her tiny hands against Thor’s chest, attempting to push him out even though all her efforts manage to do is put an unforgiving smile on the large man’s face. 

“It’s alright, Wanda,” Steve finally sighs, because he has to face Thor sooner or later. “You can leave us.” 

Wanda looks back at Dr. Rogers, defeated, before eyeballing Thor venomously even though he’s holding the door open for her like the complete gentleman he doesn’t even have to pretend he is. 

“You know,” Steve sits back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest, “this place used to be one of utmost professionalism.” 

“I wouldn’t have barged in if you had a patient, Dr. Rogers” Thor smiles, walking as close as Steve’s desk will let him get but not sitting down. “I just wanted to see if you’d like to join me for lunch. It would be a shame to let such beautiful Tagliatelle go to waste after you worked so hard making it.” 

“Do I need to ask how you even know this is my lunch hour?” Steve sighs, running one hand over his face before following Thor’s sparkling eyes to where they settle comically upon the little red book on Steve’s desk. Steve abruptly picks up his planner and tosses it into his drawer, making a mental note to burn it with gasoline later. 

“Look, Steven,” Thor brushes a fallen strand of hair behind his ear in one easy motion that shouldn’t be so beautiful, “there’s a nice park a block away, I have the food still nice and warm in my insulated bag and we really do need to talk about what happened last-”

“No talking,” Steve lays down the usual rule since it’s mostly seemed to work for them and all Thor does is smile and wink in mute compliance. The thought of getting away doesn’t sound like the worst idea in world and Steve is starving. Not to mention –which he will never mention- Steve is deeply relieved that Thor is on the list of things that he hasn’t yet lost after his previous night of self-destruction. 

Considering the recent series of events, Steve’s day is still going peculiarly smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More coming soon, hope you enjoyed. At least this one ended on a better night *evil snicker* :-D


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so sorry for the crazy long wait. Its been one hell of a ...2 weeks lol. 
> 
> Thanks for your patience.
> 
> All mistakes are my own.
> 
> More coming soon.
> 
> You all rock!!!

Steve has passed this park every day on his way to work; the large span of greenery just a blur from the window of the moving bus. Steve has never noticed the colorful playground or the tidy path perfect for morning jogs and evidently afternoon ones too. There are young people sitting in circles with books and snacks, reading and laughing in the type of study groups that Steve never had the chance to be a part of. There are ladies sitting on benches with their prams safely beside them and a guy throwing a Frisbee for his Labrador while another plays catch with his sons. There’s a small friendly football game that’s attracted an equally small audience and there’s a boy and girl under a huge oak tree who seem to have no problem at all with publicly displaying affection.

It’s sort of sad, Steve thinks, how it isn’t just the park itself that’s been a blur all these years. Steve has been walking through life with blinders, confined by the walls of the hospital, lost in the endless ailments of his patients and indoctrinated by the one man he was tragic enough to offer the little bit of himself he had left to. 

And Steve blames Thor for opening up his eyes to just how self-destructive he’d unknowingly become. Even though the larger man is smiling at him sweetly as he plates their pasta skillfully, sun hitting gold hair and tanned skin in an incredibly pretty way, Steve still thinks he’ll feel a lot better if he just punches Theodore Odinson once. 

“You look as though you’re dying to punch me,” Thor places a plate in front of Steve on the black and white checkered placemat he’d laid out from his fancy picnic bag. The silverware is impossibly shiny, handles etched with pretty swirls as if trying to punctuate their pomposity. The salt and pepper shakers are just as pretentious as the beakers Thor fills with what looks like freshly squeezed orange juice, possibly from a tree in Thor’s own back yard. There’s so much thought behind every single thing Thor is doing that Steve has to remind himself that it’s nothing more than an act of kindness, not wanting to make a fool of himself any more than he already has in front of this enigmatic nuisance of a man. 

“Would you let me?” Steve asks dryly, hating how Thor sees through his impassive front.

“Only if you eat all your vegetables,” Thor sniggers as he hands Steve a small bowl of fried mushrooms after adding a generous amount to his own pasta. 

Steve doesn’t care that his dish suddenly looks a lot less appealing after being given free reign of the plate’s sides. He goes right into eating even when Thor takes time to rain pepper over Steve’s food, invasively spicing the bit on his fork split seconds before it enters his mouth.

Steve wants to roll his eyes at Thor’s persistence, but immediately finds himself lost in the burst of flavors that erupt in his mouth and dance along his taste buds. 

“Oh my god, it’s unbelievable,” Steve somehow manages to cut his uncharacteristic appreciative moan short when he notices Thor’s eyes dilate at the sound. “Is this really what I made, you didn’t just throw that out and do it yourself?” 

“It would’ve been even better last night,” Thor shrugs, “but you left-”

“No,” Steve speaks unapologetically with his mouth full, because Thor is not about to interrupt the most orgasmic meal Steve has ever tasted, “the deal was we don’t talk about any of it.”

“It’s rather immature, don’t you think?” there’s a soft frown on Thor’s face. “Prolonging the inevitable conversation makes the matter no less real, Steven.” 

“I think a good cheese would really make this a whole lot bette-”

“I want you, Steven,” Thor interrupts with not a shred of uncertainly in his deep tone. It’s so uncharacteristically harsh that Steve actually feels the weight of it hang heavily between them. Like it’s an accusation of sorts, a complaint more than a simple declaration and it is all Steve’s fault. “It took a frightening amount of willpower to deny you last night because Lord knows I want nothing more than to touch you. But you come first. I need to be absolutely certain that you’re sure that it’s what you want. That I am an equal need and not a foreseeable regret. Because being with you and losing you will be inconceivably more painful than never having the pleasure of tasting you at all.” 

“Don’t say stuff like that to me,” Steve drops his fork and speaks to the table instead of Thor, frightened by what he might see if he looks into the other man’s eyes. 

“I’ll never say a single thing to you that I don’t mean, Steven.” 

And Steve is particularly terrified by the fact that he doesn’t doubt a single declaration that he would’ve found farfetched coming from anyone other than Tony. Even though Tony hasn’t even ever once made such claims. 

“I won’t pursue any sort of courtship un-”

“Jesus, Thor,” Steve huffs out a chuckle, shaking his head. Because it’s easier to make fun of Thor’s way of speaking than attempting to make sense of the implications behind said words. “Can you at least pretend that you aren’t a reincarnation of something out of a medieval romance novel?” 

“I won’t ask you to consider dating me until you allow me to,” Thor says in a terrible American accent that has them both in stiches before the sentence is done. Steve hopes the hilarity of the moment can be used as an excuse for him not to take the statement seriously. But when he looks up, Thor’s smile has vanished, eyes darkening in an altogether different shade that Steve has not yet seen. “I’m willing to wait as long as it takes for you to learn to love yourself enough to let yourself be loved by others.” 

Steve doesn’t realize that Thor’s hand is over his until he feels Thor’s thumb brush over his knuckles, the same way Thor’s eyes are brushing over every detail of his face. As if desperately studying it to memory with a deep seated need to keep it a secret he’ll take to his death. And Steve hates that the sheer poetry of everything about Thor is making even his usually sensible brain think whimsically. 

As if sensing that Steve is suddenly looking for an exit door in the open field, Thor removes his hand and lifts his fork, gesturing with it for Steve to do the same. 

“Eat,” Thor encourages as if he hadn’t just been looking right through Steve into realms he himself hadn’t visited since he was a child, “it won’t be as lovely heated up a third time.” 

Steve watches Thor chew for a moment before he too resumes eating. And it isn’t a comfortable silence simply because Steve is hyperaware of everything about Thor. He remembers the first time Thor had been rushed into the emergency room, an unusual twist hearing nurses trying to convince the oversized patient that he wasn’t putting them out and it wouldn’t simply be easier for everyone if they’d just let him walk home. His incessant concern about being a burden would have been humorous had Thor not been covered in cuts and bruises, barely able to move after being thrown from his motorbike, off a ramp, in the middle of a stunt that left his bike a write-off. 

“How is Mjolnir?” Steve had lowered his clipboard, shocked to hear Thor’s raspy voice croak out after barely twelve hours of sleep under heavy sedation, “is she alright? Did she survive?”

And Steve wondered if he’d read the patient file correctly, because according to the report, Theodor had been the only person involved in the accident. Convinced that the man was simply dreaming with his eyes partially open, Steve was just about to continue his rounds until the patient spoken again.

“She is so beautiful, Doc,” Thor had smiled lazily despite the medicated grazes on his lip and Steve got closer to his side. Because the man was coherent enough to know where he was and, despite the slight squint, was able to acknowledge his company with almost sad cerulean eyes. “I recall the first time I laid eyes on her. It was love at first sight.” 

Steve remained silent, offering only a soft smile because he truly had been unsure about the condition of the woman who was obviously the object of his patient’s affection. Wanting him to fall back into a blissful sleep with only the sweetest memories until he was well enough to deal with the reality of his motorbike accident. Steve was sure that she would be the first to walk into the room during visiting hours and Theodor would realize that she was alright and his charming grin would widen handsomely. Steve admired that despite the tints and swells covering him, he still had time to appear attractive. 

“And the first time I mounted her,” Thor had gone on, causing Steve’s smile to fall away, “I knew she was the one. In all honesty, she was the one riding me.” 

The image Steve had allowed himself to swim in of this stranger being a striking, thoughtful, hopeless romantic died with the rotten installation of a reckless biker with a nymphomaniac, bimbo lover. 

Steve had hated Thor all the more when he’d ended up being the last to realize that Thor had been talking about his motorbike the entire time, the nurses not letting him live it down, even a good week after Thor’s discharge. And Steve had questioned the sanity of the Odinson’s when he’d received a cake tin full of homemade cookies from his patient’s mother as a thank you for taking care of her precious boy. At that time, Steve had been a doctor long enough to know that that was not something normal people did, and soon after it was made clear that there was nothing ordinary about any of them. 

“How long has your mother run the foster home?” Steve finds himself genuinely wondering out loud and it induces a sweet sort of smile from his companion.

“I was born into it,” Thor admits somewhat proudly and Steve doesn’t know what to make of that. “Mom’s first few foster children are like uncles and aunts to me, most with families of their own now. Many closer to my age, my cousins. And then there’s the family we have now. So you could say it has been three generations long.”

“Didn’t you ever feel jealous,” Steve almost feels guilty for asking, remembering how possessive he was of his own mother. How much he hated watching her take care of the one child of the house she was keeping at the time. Feeling unable to even comprehend the craziness of sharing her with dozens from birth. “I mean, didn’t you ever feel like certain parts of her that belonged to you were taken away by children that weren’t even her own?” 

Thor smiles broadly as if Steve has honestly just made a joke, swallowing the pasta in his mouth before speaking. “When you know no other way of life, and you’re so content with the one you know, you don’t find yourself feeling as though you’re missing out on anything at all. My satisfaction has always come from being a part of my mother’s love for others. Its impossible feeling jealous while being a constant part of her.” 

“You’re so full of shit,” Steve finally laughs after a moment of nearly buying the earnestness in Thor’s eyes, “No one is that noble except for maybe…. Gandhi.” 

“I told you I would never say anything untrue to you,” Thor chuckles despite the accusations of his deception, sureness in the matter remaining unwavering, “you would have to surround yourself by it in order to truly understand.” 

“I guess I’ll never understand, then,” Steve finishes the last of his pasta, swiping his finger across the plate and licking the sauce from the tip. He almost wishes he was alone at home so that he could shamelessly clean the plate with his tongue. He really wishes his lunch break wasn’t coming to an end and he could spend more time in this stupid park with -what should be - terrible company.

“You could,” Thor says surely almost as if he had been prepared for this. As if he had been waiting, planning for the conversation to steer in this direction. Steve’s eyes narrow as Thor battles to hide his anticipation over whatever potentially dangerous idea he’s toying with in his head. “Two times a year, the entire Frigga Foster family gets together for one whole week. Past kids bring their families, mentor the new ones, share success stories. It’s just an overwhelming experience. It would be great if you could-”

“You can erase that from your mind right now, Thor,” Steve interrupts, placing his cutlery and folding his placemat as if to further make clear that the conversation is over. 

“Just hear me out,” Thor is still smiling, even as he assists Steve with clearing their dirty utensils, “it’s far away from the city and the noise, away from it all. It’s beautiful and tranquil and I assure you it is worth experiencing. Plus, your being an actual doctor would be such an added benefit in the unlikely event that someone gets injured.”

“You mean when you get hurt.” 

“Bets have already been placed.”

“Even if I would be insane enough to consider it,” Steve cleans his hands on the napkin Thor hands him, “I would never be able to get away from work.” 

“It just so happens that it falls on the very week you have off,” Thor states casually and Steve stops what he’s doing altogether. Purses his lips as he looks up at Thor who is busying himself by packing up his bag. Looking everywhere but at Steve which is so uncharacteristically transparent that Steve almost laughs. 

“How convenient,” Steve says flatly.

“Call it fate.” 

“Fate?”

“Fate that I happen to be head of the planning committee,” Thor admits with a smile, looking up at Steve through thick lashes. When all Steve does is eye Thor thoroughly unamused, Thor sighs and circles the table. At such close proximity, Steve is forced to look up into Thor’s eyes. “Just give it some thought before shooting the entire idea down, Steven. I assure you, in just a week your eyes will be opened up to so much more than just why I have no regrets about the way I grew up.” 

“I should be heading back,” Steve says, but doesn’t make a move to leave. Because for some reason, he doesn’t really have any desire to escape Thor when what he suddenly really wants to escape is what he will be escaping Thor to. 

“One week, Steven,” Thor says. 

Steve will not agree even if it means proving to Thor that absolutely nothing meaningful can be achieved in a week.

*****  
Steve picks up his next patient’s folder without uttering a word, ignoring the look that Wanda is giving him. Her eyebrow is raised in obvious suspicion of the unusual skip in his step, but he loves her for saying nothing about it. Despite Steve’s stubborn declination to Thor’s absurd proposal, the two had still parted smiling. 

“You didn’t have to walk me right to the door,” Steve had rolled his eyes as the sliding doors parted, the hum of the hospital filtering out into the parking lot. 

“I had to make sure you arrived back safely,” Thor smiled, albeit dejectedly. “There are a lot of sick people around here.” 

And the joke was so bad that he was certain Thor slipped something into the pasta because Steve actually found himself laughing, shaking his head at the absurdity of the situation and the man who put him in it. 

“You’re going to change your mind, Dr. Rogers,” Thor had said after Steve as he retreated further into the building. 

“When pigs fly, Mr. Odinson,” Steve saluted his departure, ignoring the strange urge he had to prolong their las few seconds together.

It was what it was and that is it, Steve keeps reminding himself as he makes his way to his office on autopilot. It was nice and it was warm and now it’s over. And Steve is back in the real world with patients and intercoms and the constant pong of drugs. But the monotony that each step drags him further into cannot distinguish the low thrum of delight that every moment spent with Thor ignited. Steve is so adrift that he nearly loses his footing when a hand wraps around his elbow none too gently and he’s dragged into the on-call call room. 

The door slams shut before Steve can think to defend himself, never having that sort of instinct on standby in his place of work. Even in the darkness, Steve knows exactly who his assailant is, but he still reaches for the light switch to reveal Dr. Stark. To take away some of the other man’s control in the situation. To cripple his momentum. But Tony premeditates this and pins his arm against the wall before he can. 

Tony lets go of Steve and resumes control, rolling the knob so that the room is only dimly lit. Just enough for Steve to make out each sharp, angry etch of Stark’s face and for Tony to make out his. 

“So, ‘Hercules’ is the reason you threw away everything we had,” Tony’s mockery hurts all the more when he’s outwardly angry. Because simply put, Tony Stark does not get angry. He treats every matter with such flippancy that he has no right to be angry. 

Tony’s anger makes Steve that much angrier. 

“What we had wasn’t worth holding onto,” Steve states unemotionally, “that’s why I let it go. That’s why I let you go. Just move on, you have a wife and kids-”

“Don’t even-” Tony shuts his eyes and takes one deep breath before glaring venom right through the back of Steve’s skull. “When we went into this, we promised each other that that part of my life would never come between us. You promised me you would never hold it against me or judge me for it.”

“And that was my first mistake,” Steve shakes his head, more so at his own younger self’s stupidity. “This has everything to do with them. They are – your daughters are innocent in all of thi-”

Then the back of Steve’s head knocks hard against the door when Tony’s lips crash over his. It’s a different sort of desperation; Steve knows Tony’s desperate for him to stop speaking sense because there was never ever supposed to be anything logical about the lust filled, unwritten covenant they had between the two of them. It’s as wrong now as it always has been, but now without the thick haze of denial clouding judgement, it’s downright disgusting. 

Steve pushes Stark away with so much force that the dark haired man nearly loses his footing. 

“Don’t ever fucking touch me again,” Steve seethes, heart hammering painfully in his tight chest. “Just stay the fuck away from me.” 

“Steven,” Tony’s tone is a low, a livid plead as he steps closer. 

“I also suggest you leave, Tony,” the unmistakable voice comes from the obscure shadows of the top bunk in the corner, dim lighting only just outlining Rhode’s distinctive features. 

Steve is too emotionally exhausted to deal with double leakage in such a small timeframe. All he can do is watch Rhodes leap off the high bed and stand face to face with Stark who still hasn’t moved an inch. 

And then Dr. Stark smiles, a sadistic sort of smirk that makes Steve’s blood run cold. Lingering for a moment even after Stark does finally leave the room. 

The tiny bit of relief that Steve feels is fleeting when he looks up at Rhodes and Rhodes’ face is a mask of you’ve got some explaining to do.


	10. Chapter 10

It’s been a tradition of theirs since college, one they’ve fought to uphold even after Bucky became a rock star and the rest became doctors and Tony decided to become a husband and father on top of it all. Tuesday Poker Night is sacramental and not showing up without a damn good excuse is the worst kind of offence towards their unwritten ‘friendship oath’. An easy pardon comes in life or death situations which have yet to be the case with the doctor’s line of work. And even though they know it is just a dark joke, Bucky decided to make an exception of his own. Because of course if Freddie Mercury wants to collaborate with him on a song based entirely on bacon, there is no way he will be able to blow that off for some stupid poker game.

 

As highly probable as that scenario seems, Steve still rolls his eyes.

 

That’s the only reason why Steve is standing at Bucky’s front door in Manhattan when he’d much rather be at home burying himself in enough paperwork to erase certain parts of his day. That and after being discovered by Rhodes and managing to excuse his way out of an elaborate explanation, Steve doesn’t want Rhodes thinking that his absence is due to the affair being anything bigger than he played it off as.

 

“Did I just hear what I think I hea-”

 

“Don’t make a big deal about this, its over-”

 

“You and Tony are slee-”

 

“ _Were_ , okay. We made some really bad choices. But that’s all behind us now.”

 

“This isn’t over, Steve,” Rhodes had made it ominously clear and Steve was well aware of the double entendre behind the oddly swift dismissal.

 

“Oh believe me, I know,” Steve opened the door, stopping halfway through it to look back at his friend with what he hoped was his best pleading face. “Just please, don’t tell Bucky.”

 

Steve hadn’t waited for a response because the longer they’d stood there the more it became clear to Steve that Rhodes didn’t intend on giving one.

 

When Steve walks into Bucky’s apartment and is greeted with a load of the musician on his back, it’s clear to Steve that Rhodes hasn’t yet spilled the beans.

 

“It’s about time,” Bucky ruffles Steve’s hair as he’s wrestled off, “we were about to send a search party.”

 

“Got held up,” Steve says dismissively, trying to ignore the way Bucky looks out into the hallway expectantly. It’s obvious that Bucky’s expecting Tony to be right behind Steve because the two of them always showed up together, all smiles and nonchalance trying their utmost to act as though they hadn’t just been devouring each other in Tony’s car moments before.  Steve quickly redirects the impending question by focusing on his other friend. “Rhodey.”

 

“Hello, Steven,” Rhodes says jadedly around a cigar and Steve gives him one last pleading look before Rhodes manages to force a smile. “Wasn’t sure you’d make it.”

 

“And miss out on taking your money,” Steve drops down on the chair beside him at the round table, hoping Bucky’s buying their usual bout of trash talk, “I’m remodeling my kitchen.”

 

Steve is relieved when Bucky finally closes the door and joins them, dealing out an equal amount of insults along with their first hand as Steve too lights a cigar. He pops the lid off a light beer on the edge of the chipped table to busy himself, not caring that he’s further damaging the already abused piece of furniture. Because everything in Bucky’s apartment is from the dingy garage that he once called home many years ago. The couch’s springs still squeak and the curtains are still stained and everything still carries a feint smell of motor oil. And regardless of the many monies Bucky has fallen into, he’s chosen to keep it exactly as is because moving up is something Bucky does daily, but moving on is something he’s never quite been able to get the hang of.

 

Bucky’s never abandoned a single one of his guitars over the years no matter how damaged they become. As a result, they are literally everywhere, only outnumbered by the souvenirs he’s commandeered from high  school and hotels and bars, pretty much everywhere they have touched base together growing up. It gives Bucky’s apartment a homely sort of ambience however ghetto it may seem to any of his neighbors in the posh Manhattan apartment building, to anyone at all who didn’t truly know Bucky. To Steve, it’s sort of pretty damn lovely how Bucky’s publicist can take him out of the grunge, but can’t take the grunge out of Bucky.     

 

Between the wafting smell of smoke and wear and the distinctive smell that comes with Bucky marking his territory in one place for too long, there is one new delightful addition to Steve’s customary appreciation for Poker Night’s familiarity.

 

“What’s that smell?” Steve doesn’t mean to interrupt Bucky’s elaborate story they’ve heard a hundred times about how he once accidently stepped on Patrick Stump’s foot in the middle of a show in Denver, but whatever has his stomach suddenly rumbling is too persistent to be ignored. And as if right on cue, Thor walks out of the kitchen with one large bowl, equally large plate and a ridiculously large, accomplished smile on his face.  

 

Steve lets his head fall back, closing his eyes with an audible sigh. Not caring one bit that he’s being melodramatic or drawing attention to himself. Because he’s really beginning to think that the universe is just messing with him by adding this man into every single, already complicated, equation of his existence.   

 

“Freshly made kettle chips,” Thor beams, placing his cargo down on the already chaotic table which is a mix of beer bottles, poker chips and ashtrays, “and jalapeño cheese nachos. Hello Steven.”

 

“I knew you wouldn’t mind the addition,” Bucky is already stuffing chips into his mouth before Thor even has time to fully release the bowl, “considering how you guys are already friends and all.”

 

“We’re not friends,” Steve rolls his eyes.

 

“So you often go on picnics with people who aren’t your friends?”

 

“It wasn’t a picnic,” Steve frowns at Rhodes, before irritably adding, “let me guess –”

 

“Nurse Blabbermouth,” the two doctors confirm in perfect unison, Steve’s annoyed with her more so than he usually is.

 

“I was invited, Steven,” Thor has chosen one of the two empty seats which just so happens to be right across from Steve, making it virtually impossible not to notice his presence when Steve’s eyes are off his cards, “I hope this hasn’t upset you.”

 

“So are you two dating or something?” Bucky grins awkwardly at Steven as he hands out poker chips, “You certainly replaced Tony quickly enough.”

 

“What?” Steve’s eyes widen slightly with a nacho halfway to his mouth.

 

“I’m just saying,” Bucky shrugs, “you literally just came out and there’s already another man in your life. I must say it’s no surprise, you and Tony were always either fighting like cats or fucking like dogs.”

 

And all the blood drains from Steve’s face, a whole different level of horror settling in his stomach as he looks around the table. Thor’s reflecting every bit of the mortification with his inability to spit out whatever it is he wants to say, possibly fully prepared to alleviate the impending, horrific situation, and Rhodes is looking apologetic and equally distraught. And how could Steve have been so stupid, of course Bucky knows. Of course Rhodes told him what he’d found out. Of course it had been the topic of discussion before Steve had arrived, so relieved that he hadn’t been attacked the moment he walked through the door that he’d managed to fool himself into believing nothing was amiss.     

 

“You told him about Tony and me?” Steve knows it’s ridiculous to place blame in order to curb his guilt, his frustration with being found for sleeping with a married man. “I was going to do it, I swear. I just needed some time.”

 

“I didn’t tell Bucky anything, Steve,” Rhodes shakes his head, staring down at the table, “you just did.”

 

And there’s sad sincerity laced in Rhodes’ voice that makes Steve realize that he is the one who’s messed things up yet again. Because they’ve all been teasing Tony and Steve about being lovers, even without Tony adding coal to the flames of gaiety by slapping Steve’s ass and telling him he’s pretty. Steve braces himself before locking eyes with Bucky, regretting it when he sees the twisted look of confusion and revulsion creeping onto his usually pleased face.

 

“Hope you faggots didn’t start without me,” Tony’s wearing his usual concealment of nonchalance when he chooses that moment to walk in. Tony stops hallway to the table, eyeing the group with careful consideration before smiling wryly. “Did somebody die or are you just all as disappointed as I am that Thor is here.”

 

“You and Tony,” Bucky scoffs, eye nearly twitching with his inability to fully grasp the idiocy of the implication. “It wasn’t just all a joke, you two have been fucking behind our- wait, you guys knew about this?” 

 

“Well, I must be at the wrong place,” Tony says flatly, looking back at the door before inspecting the rest of the apartment where he stands with false confusion, “I thought I was showing up for a poker game not a live airing of The Jerry Springer Show.”

 

“Shut up, Stark,” Rhodes voices exactly what everyone else must be thinking. Exactly what Steve knows Bucky is feeling as he watches his friend’s face turn color, a horrible shade of pink.

 

“You shut up, Rhodes,” Bucky snaps, rising to his feet. “You all shut up.”

 

“Bucky,” Rhodes raises his hands defensively, “now, I only found out about all this this afternoon and I am just as upset as you are-”

 

“Just as upset as I am?” Bucky chuckles. Steve stands when Bucky circles the table, not expecting his friend to become violent but still preparing himself for it just in case. Bucky’s actions cause a ripple effect and within seconds, Thor is standing between Bucky and Steve and Rhodes has Bucky’s arm in his hand just as added measure. Bucky still speaks over Thor’s shoulder as if the barricade isn’t there at all. “This has fuck all to do with how we feel. Did you ever stop to think about Pepper, huh? About the girls, Steven? You’re their godfather for fuck’s sake.”

 

“I realize it was a mistake,” Steve pulls Thor aside, an act that’s only possible because Thor lets him when the big guy is certain Bucky isn’t going to take any cheap shots. “The biggest mistake of my life and I regret every moment that I was heartless enough to entertain that it was ever okay.”

 

“Biggest mistake of your life?” Tony cocks his head thoughtfully, “Thank you for clearing that up because I was under the impression that you were thoroughly enjoying yourself. But then again it could have just been the way you kept begging me not to stop.”

 

This time, when Bucky circles the table, no one makes a move to stop him. They all seem to be dazedly routed to their spots until it becomes too late and Tony’s smug face is introduced to Bucky’s fist.

 

“Jesus, Bucky,” Tony folds with his face in his hands, having the audacity to act as though he hadn’t seen it coming. And despite Tony deserving the hit, Steve still finds himself at Stark’s side. Because Steve sees red between the gaps of Tony’s fingers and Steve is a doctor before a jilted lover. “You broke it.”

 

“You should’ve just shut up,” Rhodes sounds more amused than concerned even as he moves to calm a seething Bucky who is pacing the room, cursing at the understandably painful hand that he’s cradling in his other.  

 

 

“Perhaps its best you leave, Dr. Stark,” Thor suggests wisely, the first smart suggestion made all night, in Steve’s opinion.”

 

“I think its best you both leave,” Bucky amends, and the look he gives the pair is sharp enough to cut glass. “And, Thor, if you follow Steve _this_ time; don’t ever bother coming back.”

 

There is a long moment of unspoken deliberation, Thor standing beside Steve who is holding a bloody Stark and Rhode’s inspecting Bucky’s dented knuckles. And Steve shakes his head at Thor, unwilling to be the cause of any more pain and loss for one lifetime. He makes his escape with Tony, the man he caused this mess with and the one he should suffer the consequences beside.

 

Steve is completely unsure how he feels when he looks back.

 

‘I’m sorry my friend,” Thor pats Bucky’s shoulder shortly before following Steve out.

 

*****

 

“Let me give you a ride home, Steven.”

 

“I’m sorry, but does anyone recall that I’m the one busy gushing blood here. I’m clearly in need of some medical attention.”

 

“You are a doctor. Self-medicate.”

 

“You know, I’m gonna start to think you don’t like me all that much, Thor.”

 

“It’s Theodor, only my friends call me Thor.”

 

“Can you guys just cool it,” Steve snaps, head pounding. In no mood to listen to two grown men bicker like children standing outside of the apartment building of a friend he just might have officially lost if he’s not able to think straight long enough to find some way to rectify the entire mess. Nothing seems to come to mind, not with the type of day that Steve has had. Nothing has seemed to go well at all over the past week.

 

As Steve looks between Tony and Thor, an invisible line appears. One that divides all he desires and what he’s always believed he deserves. Thor is the very definition of everything Steve has longed for in Tony. From Tony. But, he isn’t Tony. And Steve never has been given the chance to want anything else before. He isn’t sure he knows how to. 

 

Steve needs someone to teach him how.

 

“Allow me,” Thor pleads sort of desperately and Steve can’t help but chuckle. Because although he is holding up his car keys and it’s a proposal that simply involves Steve allowing Thor to get him home safely, it’s a sad sort of coincidence how everything about Thor deludes him into believing that Thor just might be the frame he want to protect the painting that Steve has yet to complete. The one of all his truest and deepest desires. Steve’s unfinished masterpiece that he’s been struggling with all his life. 

 

And Thor wants him, Steve feels warm at the thought. A little warmer at the thought of how many ways he can be taken. And it just may be the oddest moment to make such a crazy decision - with Tony rambling on about damaged cartilage and Bucky kicking him out and Thor looking at him hopefully in the moonlight - but with all that has been going on, Steve concedes that a little bit more crazy might be the perfect route towards finding a new kind of sanity. 

 

“Give me the keys,” Steve says to Tony, a different sort of control in his voice that has Tony looking confused and Thor seeming crushed. “I’m driving.”

 

“You’re going to take care of me?” Tony grins triumphantly, and Steve can’t wait for him to start looking like a raccoon. One can’t be blamed for shooting a smug raccoon.

 

“Get in the car before I change my mind,” Steve catches the keys easily, ‘and not another word.”

 

Steve wishes he hadn’t given the last order when Tony settles with winking at Thor before ducking into the car and slamming the door shut.

 

“Steven, please don’t –”

 

“This is one last thing I have to take care of,” Steve says quietly, taking a step into Thor’s personal space. All disappointment melts away and Thor sways slightly as if fighting an urge he suddenly has to step forward. The heat and need that radiates off of Thor is almost enough to make Steve sway too. But Thor is still his patient and Steve is still Thor’s doctor and they just might also be friends now too, but that is all they are. It’s a budding friendship, Steve accepts, since he isn’t about to back out of what he knows he has to do.  “But I just wanted to tell you that I saw the craziest thing on my way here.”

 

“Really,” a smile is present in Thor’s voice. One Steve can feel but not see because Thor’s lips are practically against his ear. “What might that have been?”

 

“A flying pig,” Steve whispers as if it’s supposed to be a secret. He chuckles at the look on Thor’s face when Thor moves back, forcing their eyes to meet.  

 

“You mean you’re-”

 

“Somebody has to take care of you,” Steve tries for seriousness, but the grin that crosses Thor’s face when Steve touches Thor’s cast is far too contagious. “Just do me a favor, go upstairs and fix things with Bucky. I don’t think I can stomach coming between one more relationship.”

 

Thor’s hand comes up, warm palm and callused fingers cupping Steve’s jaw. A gesture so effective that Steve has to remove it before he gives into the principal urge he has to lean into it.

 

“Thank you, Steven,” Thor whispers, making their foreheads touch before pulling himself away.

 

Such small gestures should not make Steve’s entirety quake, only made worse by the tiny wave Thor offers before disappearing into Bucky’s apartment building.

 

It’s going to be one hell of a week.

 

 

 

        

 


	11. Chapter 11

Steve picks at the loose string where a button used to be, trying hard not to, but remembering every detail of the night Tony left this exact shirt at his apartment.  It’s the one piece of Tony that’s been here the longest and it signifies the first time Tony spent the entire night in Steve’s bed after a particularly vicious argument with Pepper.

 

Tony had been completely out of character that night. Worryingly withdrawn yet sexually pliant. The first sober kiss Steve had shared with Tony as his patient hands stripped Steve naked agonizingly slowly. And Steve’s own hands had fumbled with the silk of Tony’s shirt, stuttering to the point of ripping off a single button. Because Steve couldn’t keep calm with Tony breathing into his parted lips as he worked a condom onto Steve’s erection. A wordless invitation of exactly what Tony needed from Steve. A direct contradiction to Tony’s declarations of how he’d never be gay enough to bend over for another man. Not even Steve.

 

But that night, Tony had. And it was a consuming sort of satisfaction that took over while holding Tony beneath him like that. An inexplicable rapture entirely too overwhelming for Steve to make it last as long as he wanted it to. But Steve quickly realized he needn’t worry about his hasty conclusion because all it did was leave Tony clinging to him, wanting more. And by the time the sun began to rise, Steve had found out more about Tony in one night than he’d been subconsciously studying for over a decade. He knew all the sounds that Tony made while biting down through pain and reveling in pleasure. He knew the light patterns of Tony’s snoring in slumber, the way he mumbled incoherently before every false awakening. He knew the delicate spots on Tony’s body that made him shiver and goosebumps flair, the fact that Tony smiled whenever his ears were toyed with. By the time the sun began to rise, Steve threw out the very ridiculous idea of ever living for anyone other than Tony Stark.

 

“I forgot all about that shirt,” Tony says, snapping Steve from dangerous recollections that should stay exactly where they are. Steve looks up to find Tony standing in his bedroom doorway despite Steve’s earlier instructions for Tony not to follow him. Apart from the awful color sprouting below his eyes and the nosebleed padding plastered to his face, there’s something behind Tony’s easy smile and the curve of his bare torso as he leans against the doorframe – there’s something dominantly vulnerable that heats up Steve’s nostalgia.

 

“Put that on,” Steve throws the shirt at Tony who catches it right as it hits his chest, “you should take the rest of your stuff too.”

 

“You see, even as you say it-” Tony covers the space between them, fingers tugging at the bag Steve is busying himself with by packing everything Tony has left behind over time. Tony’s undershirts. A tie. A belt. The toothbrush that had once been sealed safely in the bathroom cabinet in case of guests but ended up sitting beside Steve’s in the cup on the sink. “- we both know it’s not what you really feel. With everything going on right now, we need each other more than ever, Steve. I need you. Okay, so the guys know now. So what? I think if they were honest with themselves, on some level they’ve always know. Getting them to keep quiet is the easy part. The hard part is getting you to fall again, for me. For us. For what we had. But I won’t give up.”

 

“You’re right,” Steve confesses, pulling the bag and the shirt out of Tony’s loose grasp, but only visibly shocking Tony when he tosses them aside like inapt cargo. Startling Tony further when he slides his hands around the shorter man, palms gliding flatly over smooth skin, settling on the points of Tony’s spine that keep them closest together.

 

“What?” Tony is uncharacteristically incoherent, like he thinks this is a cruel joke and Steve is going to start plunging a knife in Tony’s back instead of the soft kisses on his shoulder. 

 

But Steve knows there is nothing deceitful about it.

 

As much as Steve wants to hate Tony, and a big part of him does, the most of Steve still loves him. Because it’s always been an explosive sort of love that Steve could never simply turn off with the flip of a switch. Steve has even taken the bulb off, mortified to find the light still blinding. And so despite knowing that this is so far from sensible, Steve gives it one last chance. Without Thor’s sensibility influencing his decisions or the bitter guilt of Pepper’s inevitable suffering plaguing his mind. Because Tony’s has never lived in Steve’s head. Only his heart.

 

And if Steve is finally going to force the scales of love and logic to align, Tony needs a fair trial before being overpowered by this new part of Steve that Tony was certain would never exist. 

 

“Remember your wedding vows?” Steve’s eyes meet Tony’s, a confession he’d intended on taking to his grave now on the tip of his tongue. “You were astonishingly at loss for words and Bucky was the natural poet, so you asked him to do it for you. Well he didn’t write it, I did. Because he said I know you more than anyone else. And God, they came out so easily because I was writing them to you…not for you.”

 

“Steven –” Tony tries to stop Steve but the blond man is already on one knee, looking up with a sort of certainty that can’t be forged.

 

“I will say those vows to you, and honor every single one of them,” Steve’s voice trembles, “and any time you ever doubt a thing, I will repeat them again and you don’t even have to say a word to me in return. Because I’ll have my answer the moment you go home and tell Pepper exactly how you got punched.”

 

Later that night, Steve receives a text from Pepper:

 

 _Thank you for_ _taking care of my husband, I sincerely hoped he would have grown out of the juvenile bar fights by now._

 

That night, Steve receives his answer.

  

*****

“Bucky, it’s me again.” Steve sighs, not caring one bit that he sounds just as desperate as he feels. The judgmental silence that follows is no less painful, even if it is just Bucky’s answering machine that Steve’s been speaking to all day. “Listen, I’m really sorry. I know what I did is unforgivable, but can you at least just give me a chance to explain myself. Face to face. You don’t owe me forgiveness but I really do feel like I owe you an explanatio-”

 

Steve holds his breath when the line is picked up, spirits immediately sinking when it’s dropped a second later, the dead tone reminding Steve that Bucky still isn’t ready for him.

 

“It’s Bucky,” Steve hangs onto the comforting words Rhodes had offered him that morning as they rode the elevator in a considerably breezy sort of way. “He’ll come around.”

 

And Steve hopes Rhodes is right, because a bent out of shape Bucky has a way of causing a rift in the closest thing Steve has to family. The boys are his brothers, Tony being his actual adoptive brother by law, regardless of how frustrating the man can be. Regardless of how complicated the two of them made their relation become.

 

Steve had known this day would come, but not quite like this. He’d hoped the truth would be told in a quiet room, with his hand held tightly in Tony’s ‘wedding ringless’ grasp. With Bucky and Rhodes sitting across from them, shocked but not repelled. With Pepper already starting the healing process as strongly as she’s always tackled any obstacle that lay in the path of her perfect life. 

 

Steve had spoken about it to Stark, or at least he had tried. But every time he’d uttered anything remotely close to not hiding anymore, Tony would do just that. Tony would remember a dinner appointment or his daughter’s recital or an early morning meeting. Tony would get dressed without sparing Steve a glance. And Tony would leave with a loose smile, one that always felt accusing. Like it was Steve’s fault for making the little time they had together even shorter by mentioning the unmentionables. 

 

Steve wonders if it’s contagious, if - after being around Tony for so long- he’d allowed himself to believe that what they were doing was alright as long as they didn’t talk about it and nobody else found out. Steve wonders if it’s the reason he’s been so reluctant to talk to Thor about anything that resembles emotion when all he really wants to do is scream out his feelings at the top of his lungs. His anger towards Tony, his remorse for all he’s done behind Pepper’s back and once even in her bed. Steve wants to rant about how scared he is about losing his best friends and how confused he is about his feelings for-

 

Steve looks down at the receiver still held tightly in his hand. He places it back into its cradle and pushes the entire telephone away. Because the sudden need to speak to Thor is misplaced and absurd and Steve blames it on the fact that he knows, for some unexplainable reason, that Thor is the only person on the entire face of the earth who won’t judge him right now.  He knows Thor will distract him and try to make him smile, maybe even attempt to make him food if he finds out that the last solid thing that Steve had eaten was that stupid orgasmic pasta.  And despite himself, Steve finds himself smiling at the thought of Thor trying to make him do just that. And Steve honestly wishes he had a patient, anything to divert him from the incessant sense of serenity that outlines everything about Thor. From his easy cerulean eyes to his mercilessly pretty smile. Steve has no idea how anyone that large and solid can come off as such a cozy rest area.  

 

The knock on the door yanks Steve from his thoughts – just as he was about to lay his head on Thor’s bare chest –and Steve nearly knocks his laptop over as he pretends to continue working on the title page of his thesis. 

 

“Dr. Rogers,” its Wanda’s familiar voice, drenched in the same coat of panic that comes with working in a place where your only visitors are either diseased or covered in blood, “Angel is here. She needs to see you. It’s an emergency.”

 

Regret pools in the pit of Steve’s stomach when he looks up to find an unnerved Angel standing beside the nurse, blood spatters on the front of her white button-down blouse. With an otherwise quiet looking afternoon ahead, Steve shouldn’t have wished for a patient and he certainly shouldn’t have been hoping for a usable motive to talk to Thor.

 

*****

 

“She’s just making a big deal out of this” the boy says calmly as Steve flashes the penlight from one eye to the other. His pupils constrict and he blinks away the invasion, no nerve response showing any signs of damage despite the fact that all that’s left of his specs are the broken frame and a few persistent shards of glass clinging to it.

 

“ _Is_ it a big deal?” Steve raises a brow, holding Angel’s brother’s –Hank's? - jaw in one gloved hand as he inspects the softer points of what should be a dented face with the tips of his fingers.

Six boys against one is far from a fair fight, but to come out unscathed having been the underdog in such a situation is certainly grounds for investigation. And though Hank is of the same height as Steve, nothing else about him screams warrior, from his timid way of speaking to his general passive pose. In fact, Hank reminds Steve of a younger him before the long hours at gym and his cruel-to-be-kind football coach. It’s sort of miraculous that Hank hadn’t been lying when he’d told Steve that none of the blood on his shirt - or Angel’s - belonged to him. But despite the light bruise forming high on his cheekbone undoubtedly from when a fist collided with his glasses, Hank’s nose is still straight and his lip untorn. Steve carefully examines Hank’s knuckles the same way he’d wanted to do to Bucky the previous night.           

 

“With all due respect,” Hank flexes his fingers before balling them up into two tight fists, “you’re the doctor. You can clearly see it isn’t.”

 

“I’m not talking about your injuries,” Steve folds his arms over his chest, “or should I say lack thereof them. Angel says she witnessed you taking on half a dozen seniors. Like nothing she’s ever seen before. She said it’s like you became some kind of beast-”

 

“A beast?” Hank looks up, startled. More remorseful than offended, Steve notices as he watches the color drain from his unexpected patient’s face.

 

“It’s a direct quote and an obvious exaggeration,” Steve tries to offer some sort of comfort, clearly having placed Hank in the center of an emotional battle that he has no idea how to fight his way out of, “Relax. Believe me; I’ve been called much worse.”

 

“Look,” Hank’s jaw tightens as he stands, “Angel agreed not to tell mom what happened if I’d just let you take a look at me, she said nothing about me having to talk to you.”

 

“Talking to me might help,” Steve smiles carefully.

 

“I’m pretty sure you’re not that kind of doctor,” Hank points out, but still makes no attempt to leave even after Steve takes a seat behind his desk giving him a clear path to the door.  

 

“That’s even better, isn’t it?” Steve joins his hands behind his head and crosses his feet on the desk, attempting to bring a much needed sense of ease into the wintry doctor’s office. “Talk to me like I’m just some guy who happens to be around to listen. No analysis, no judgment, no timer.”

 

Steve contains his sigh of relief when Hank finally takes the seat across from him.

 

*****

He’s never tried to conceal the fact that he’s unforgivingly terrible with children, but for some reason, Thor’s siblings seem to think otherwise. Steve accepts this as he’s accompanying a smiling Hank out of his office an hour later, and the formally tightlipped teen will not shut up with obvious reluctance to part ways. He accepts it even more when Angel hops out of a chair in the waiting area, looking worlds better than she did upon arrival when she notices that whatever Dr. Rogers did has her brother cheerful. And as the siblings leave and promise Steve they’ll stay out of trouble long enough to get home safely, Steve knows he has to make a few calls.

 

Steve brushes off Wanda’s apology for the unceremonious interruption as he asks her for the Odinson’s file. When back in the office with only minutes to spare before his next patient arrives, Steve makes his first call to an old friend. A little more than an acquaintance who he’s lost touch with but never forgotten. Someone a lot like Hank.

 

And then Steve finds himself starring at the next number, thumb brushing over each printed digit on the awful yellow paper before he sighs and moves to next of kin.

 

“Hello,” the last vowel is dragged on melodically and Steve briefly wishes that even a single one of his countless attempts at reaching Bucky that day had turned out like this.

 

“Uh, yes ma’am,” Steve feels the same childish trepidation return before he clears his throat and rights himself, “Frigga, this is Steve. Dr. Rogers. ”

 

“Oh, doctor,” her sunny voice conflicts with what sounds like a world war with no sign of reaching a resolution playing out in the background. Steve wants to apologize for getting her at a bad time and insist on calling back later, but Frigga shouts something that’s muffled by her palm against the mouthpiece and when she returns there is complete silence. “What can I do for you? I’d ask you what Theodor has broken now if he wasn’t right where I can see him. Do you want to talk to hi-”

 

“No,” Steve rushes and then tries for a softer; “no ma’am. Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I was hoping to speak to you. Face to face.”

 

Frigga is silent for a moment, presumably contemplating not only Steve’s lack of composure but his unexpected request as well. When she next speaks, all cheerfulness is drained from her voice and she sounds as though she handles emergencies with the utmost equanimity for a living. Steve was certain that that was _his_ job. “Is something the matter, Dr. Rogers?”

 

“Nothing of immediate concern,” Steve explains, “but it’s a resolvable issue concerning one of your children and it’s probably best dealt with now before it becomes unmanageable.”

 

“I’ll set another plate at the table,” like a light switch, Frigga is bubbly once again, “Dinner starts at 6:30, and they’re a voracious little bunch so we will start without you if you’re late.”

 

 “That won’t be necessary,” Steve laughs, wondering if Frigga’s dealing and healing with food is where Thor gets it from. “If it’s alright with you, I would prefer it if none of the children know I was there. You know, it’s sort of a doctor/patient confidentiality breech.”

 

“Then I know just the time and place,” Frigga says like an agent bent on keeping a mission covert and Steve is comforted by both her humorous take on it and her laughter at her own levity.

 

Minus the lingering, hungry looks and bedroom smile, speaking to Frigga is just as easy and enjoyable as speaking to Thor.

 

 

 

 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Guys!!!
> 
> Posting this up just to tie you over, so thank Sandra :-)
> 
> Actually working on finishing it before posting any more, almost there so stay strong. 
> 
> Thank you everyone for kudos and comments, love and patience....

Steve has been here before; head unclear and unable to fully take in its beauty. But he’s certain that the morning light pales in comparison to how the garden is lit up at night like this.

 

Steve hadn’t noticed the lanterns hanging on            the fridge of the gazebo and illuminating the pathway in an enchanted sort of way. The flames aren’t bright enough to outshine the starry sky but certainly make the place feel warmer even if only psychologically.

 

There is somebody sitting on the gazebo where Frigga said she would be waiting, and even at this distance Steve can tell that it isn’t her. Steve only hesitates a moment before mounting the stairs and allowing his presence to be known by a boy who looks neither familiar nor surprised by the fact that he’s no longer alone.  

 

“If you’re here to rob the place, the good stuff is inside,” he says nonchalantly without sparing Steve a glance. Steve can’t help but chuckle, knowing full well that despite the dark hoodie this boy is no threat to him or Thor’s family. And not just because he knows that Thor is home due to the huge vehicle parked out in front.

 

“I’m Steve,” he offers his hand, taking a seat beside the guarded teenager.

 

“And this is Pietro,” Frigga answers on his behalf as she joins them on the deck, startling Steve with her quietness. Steve retreats his hand when he realizes it’s not going to be shaken by the kid and watches as Frigga brushes the hoodie of his head before stroking his blond hair motherly. “And Pietro should be upstairs getting settled in for the night.”

 

Steve stands out of politeness despite Frigga steering him to stay seated, dropping down beside Steve where Pietro just vacated morosely. He isn’t four feet away before Frigga’s calling him back.       

 

“Would you be a dear and give Dr. Rogers his wallet back?” Frigga smiles. Steve frowns, instinctively searching his pockets even while Pietro is handing him a wallet that looks exactly like his.

 

“Thanks,” Steve says carefully, both brows raised at the unremorseful glare on the teenager’s face. This time when he walks away, Frigga doesn’t stop him.

 

“He’s not a bad kid, you know,” Frigga says warmly as Steve double-checks the contents of his wallet. Nothing is missing. “Sometimes good children land up in bad families. His story is quite sad actually. Both his parents died in a horrible accident leaving just him and his sister. But you know how it goes for boys, always harder to get them adopted, but his sister absolutely refused to get taken without him so-”

 

“-so he ran away from the orphanage when they were kids, just so she could get adopted,” Steve finishes thoughtfully, feeling goosebumps flare and the hair on the back of his neck rise. Because this isn’t the first time he’s heard this story. No, he recalls a particularly emotional evening when a young nurse confided in him with tears in her eyes and a tiny photo in her locket. “It’s Maximorff, isn’t it – the kids surname.”

 

“Yes,” Frigga looks a lot less shocked than Steve feels as he connects dots that he’s slowly starting to realize shouldn’t be implausible when dealing with the Odinsons. Because with coincidences like this, Steve is genuinely starting to believe in –

 

“Frigga,” a small smile touches Steve’s lips and he realizes he doesn’t really have to ask his impending question, because he knows what Frigga is going to say. He just needs to hear it from someone else, if only to feel a little more rational about toying with irrational notions. “Do you believe that sometimes certain people were literally just meant to meet each other?”

 

“Of course I do,” Frigga pats Steve’s thigh, “ just look at you and my son for example. Of course he adores you on a personal level, but look at all the good that’s coming out of the two of you crossing paths. You’re a very good man, not only mending people because you’re being paid to, but look at you – you didn’t have to be here right now. First you help Angel, now her brother-”

 

“You know about Angel?” Steve blushes sheepishly, feeling more like he’s being intrusive than noble.

 

“There’s little they can keep from me,” Frigga shrugs before adding, “I’m thrilled you’ve decided to come on this trip with us. Thor tends to see the good in just about anyone, but he sees a whole lot more in you.”

 

“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about,” Steve distracts from his blush by changing the subject even though he knows he’s miserable at such, “if it’s okay with you, I was hoping I could bring an old friend. He’ll be good or Hank, for all the children, but more so Hank.”

 

“Oh dear,” Frigga fakes concern as she stands, unable to fully hide her smile, “I’m just the supposed guest of honor at these things. I think its best you run that by the head of the planning committee. Goodnight Dr. Rogers. ”    

 

“I wasn’t eavesdropping,” Thor is standing at the foot of the stairs, hand outstretched to help his mother down them. Frigga merely hits her son’s hand away and heads towards the house guided by lanterns and light laughter. “Pietro said there was a creepy guy outside speaking to mom, I had to inspect.”

 

“Creepy,” Steve smirks despite himself, standing in the hopes that Thor won’t sit down. The night, the lighting, Thor’s hair falling over mostly bare shoulders, looking like a Greek god with unfair height and unnecessary muscle. It’s far too intimate to be safe. “If he thinks I’m creepy already, wait ‘til he finds out that I know far too much about him.”

 

“How is that?” Thor asks, genuinely curious despite the unnecessary closeness, “is that what you came to discuss with my mother?”

 

“No,” Steve chuckles, defeated. “No, far from that in fact. Every time I think I’m one step closer to closing a chapter with… you, another keeps opening up. I’m not gonna get rid of you am I?”

 

“The question is,” Thor’s fingers curl around Steve’s wrist, “why are you still trying to?”

“I shouldn’t be here,” Steve tries to ignore the effect that a touch so gentle from this man has on him, “I mean, no more of the kids should see me here. I just came to ask if I could bring–”

 

“Is he more handsome than me, Steven?” Thor enquires deeply, voice laced with a predatory sort of darkness. Steve has to search Thor’s eyes to see the humor behind dark orbs before their both chuckling and Thor winks. “Of course you can. Anything to keep you from backing out”

 

Steve looks thoughtful before sobering; freeing himself from Thor’s loose grip and the attention that Thor has mastered directing at him. The type that has the ability to make Steve closely forget why he came in the first place. Because it’s warm and caring and makes Steve feel things he shouldn’t, because Steve has only just started letting go of the one man he used to crave such consideration from.  Although Thor has done nothing but offer backing in Steve’s healing process, Steve is not stupid enough to overlook the fact that Thor is still effortlessly Steve’s biggest distraction.

 

“In that case,” Steve adds, backing away, “I think I’m going to need an assistant as well.”

 

Thor raises a curious brow but doesn’t ask any more questions. He just offers a simple goodnight that holds more disappointment than Thor has any right to be feeling considering how Steve hadn’t even planned on meeting up with Thor that night in the first place.

 

He might have hoped for it, but he didn’t plan it.

 

Nothing ever goes according to plan where Thor is concerned.

 

*****

Days have passed and Tony’s still sporting an awful shiner that makes Steve’s stomach twist whenever he makes the mistake of looking at it. Rumors in the hospital range from attack-by-schizophrenic-patient to more ludicrous speculations about spousal abuse, most of which originate from Nurse Blabbermouth.     

 

Whenever Steve is asked, he manages to evade answering the question by scolding his fellow staff members for engaging in such juvenile pastimes in the workplace. And Steve is able to get away with it except for with Nurse Wanda who asks Steve if Tony’s damaged face has anything to do with the reason that Tony and he are avoiding each other like the plague.

 

When Wanda asks him about this for the first time, Steve stains the front of his doctor’s coat with orange juice and complements her on how perceptive she is. Then Steve skillfully changes the subject into how that perception is what made her his first choice of being his assistant nurse on his week away with the orphans.

 

Wanda is still skeptical, her natural wariness making her question Steve even more than the chief of medicine had when Steve had presented him with the unnatural request. And Steve knows the only reason the chief ran with it was due to the fact that the hospital really could use a damn good volunteer work story after their less than kind reviews that rated their establishment as one of the top five hospices without heart. So Steve only feels slightly bad about manipulating the system in order to get the board to let him steal the young nurse for a week, but it dissipates when he reminds himself of the greater purpose behind it.

 

As disappointed as Wanda id for the obligatory unpaid leave to take on an assignment she didn’t even apply for, Steve is certain that she too will feel it’s more than worth it when she gets one look at her brother.

 

It just might be the highlight of the entire outing that he too somehow got suckered into. And Steve knows he’s not the only one ridiculously excited about the idea of reuniting two lost siblings when he looks at the emotion on Thor’s face, Thor completely unable to mask his amusement as Nurse Wanda stands present while Steve removes the large man’s cast. Thor’s pupils nearly dilated with excitement, joy that could’ve passed off as simple elation by the impending freedom of his cast if Thor could actually stop eyeing Nurse Wanda like a child with free range in a toy store. Clearly taking in her features, possibly wondering how he’d never seen the resemblance before.  Fingers fidgeting like he’s dying to poke her and tell her that he knows something she doesn’t know.

 

Thor has always reminded Steve of an overgrown child, but never as much as the day Steve told Thor about his perfect plan to reunite the Maximorff siblings.   

 

Steve can only imagine how giddy Thor must be right then as he packs the last of his own camping gear into a travel case he got ages ago but has never used. And he knows he’s packed like a complete amateur and has probably forgotten every single necessity needed to survive the outdoors, but Bruce’s bag is smaller than his own and Bruce looks more than satisfied himself.

 

Steve smiles at Bruce who’s sitting in his lounge watching cartoons while munching on a bowl of cereal. His laughter just as contagious as the huge smile he’d received after opening his front door that morning to find his over enthusiastic former patient all ready to go in an outfit that only a true Indiana Jones fan could mimic so perfectly.

 

Bruce Banner had become Steve’s friend away from friends in college, and not for lack of Steve trying to get Bruce to at least try and get to know Tony, Rhodes and Bucky. Although Bruce was a highly intellectual physics  with amazing insight on nearly everything, he was also extremely socially withdrawn and emotionally reserved, something Steve later found out had a lot to do with his explosive temper and little to do with anxiety issues he’d lied to Steve about having.

 

There was a defining moment, one wherein Bruce blacked out, only to come to to find a bunch of grown men on the bathroom floor of a seedy bar. And there was so much red that Bruce that by the time Bruce washed up and made it to Steve’s dormitory, he was still reeking of violence, knuckles bruised and swollen and chipped on the edges. 

 

Bruce had confessed everything to Steve as the med student and only friend he had on campus tended to his wounds. Bruce had told him that it wasn’t the first time such had happened, but certainly the worst. Bruce had told him how much he feared that it was only going to get worse. And then Steve talked Bruce into trying an anger management group, one Bruce fought him all the way to the door about attending. And Bruce only thanked Steve for the life changing advice one year later when he was finally at peace with himself, a college star in the boxing ring and a spokesman for several groups from high school to juvie.

 

Steve is convinced that if there is anyone who can get through to Hank, all the children in general, it is his old friend, Bruce.

 

“Thanks again for doing this,” Steve says in case he hasn’t already said it enough and Bruce smiles widely at him. Steve has always marveled about how a man with the sweetest eyes and kindest face could ever have been bottling any type of anger let alone fury on the level he’d been harboring.

 

“I’ve been looking for an excuse to get out of the lab,” Bruce shrugs, “everyone else has their children’s concerts to go to or their in-laws to visit, it will be nice to be devoted to something other than radioactivity for a bit.”

 

“How come you haven’t settled down yet,” Steve asks, naturally curious, even though it easily puts him at risk of being asked the same question. But Steve no longer has to think up a lie while hiding the truth – that he’s single because the man he loves is married to woman. Steve finally has a convenient excuse, he’ll tell Bruce he only recently came out and he’s still just trying out his newly gay dancing shoes. It isn’t a complete lie after all.  

 

Bruce makes a sound that tells Steve he has many different reasons but he’s trying to settle on the best one. “I’ve just haven’t met the one, you know. The Jane to my Tarzan. The Beauty to my Beast.”

 

“You’re still such a nerd,” Steve laughs easily with Bruce as he jumps over his friend’s legs to answer the knock at the door, as if it hasn’t been years since they’ve seen each other.  Steve’s smile doesn’t even fall away when he opens up to find an already irritated Natasha on the other side of the threshold, arms folded in a stance she seems to favor.

 

“Thor’s got his hands full he asked me to get you,” Natasha says monotonously and with no respect for punctuation whatsoever. “And just so you know, if you’re having second thoughts about coming along, there’s still time to change your mind. I can wait.”

 

“We’ll be down in a minute,” Steve confirms, but refrains from thanking her. Steve values his nuts. “Bruce this is-”

 

Steve chuckles, stopping halfway through the introduction because Natasha is already halfway down the hallway, clearly uninterested in pleasantries. When Steve turns back to apologize to Bruce and tell him not to take it personally, he’s fully unprepared for the look he’s greeted by. But Steve knows exactly what that look means. And Steve inwardly slaps a hand over his face and outwardly groans.   

 

“Please tell me she doesn’t have a Tarzan,” Bruce says.

 

And so the week begins. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!!! Once again thank you for the patience and support. Very unedited and I know I always say more coming soon shortly, but this time I mean it. So close to my vacay I can smell it. 
> 
> Anyway, hope you enjoy, THANK YOU FOR READING!!!!!

For the past few years, Steve Rogers’ life has been excruciatingly repetitious. He wakes up every morning on the couch with a ton of paperwork strewn out on the coffee table and the television still turned on low, news reporters far too jolly for such an early hour. His eyes never fully open until he’s had decent shot of espresso, something he’s been unable to function without ever since he walked into the store in search of a new coffee mug and got conned into adopting a De’Longhi Scultura Coffee Machine by a very enthusiastic salesman.

 

Steve runs 2.5 miles for 30 minutes, his obligatory equivalent of child support that he pays to his body. Guilt-imbursement for the extra bacon and fresh donuts he plans on consuming sometime in the near future with his second cup of coffee. When Steve’s decorum is attacked by his reckless, sexually-deprived side which stems from Tony’s imminent suggestive touches and knowing smirks, Steve’s morning shower has a happy ending. Something he’s grateful has lessened since his torturous high school years of living in a house with a stepbrother who preferred sleeping in Steve’s bed regardless of the countless others in the mansion. 

 

Steve takes the bus to work driven by the same tiny man who still calls him Adam and asks him how the law firm is holding up. He then sits quietly avoiding making eye contact with the blonde lady from his apartment floor who wears far too much makeup and not enough deodorant, nicotine staining her teeth and lust in her eyes.

 

Then Steve slips into his role as Dr. Rogers, a master of healing who watches people strip naked both physically and emotionally as they share everything with him, from their regrets of a careless night of unprotected sex with a stranger, to their fears of what the lump below their armpit might be.  And even though Dr. Stark was unpredictable, Steve could still always rely on his day to be filled with stolen kisses in the on-call room or sometimes even so much more. A rushed throw of passion in the parking lot, Stark’s Lamborghini strategically parked in a lonely corner where the subtle bouncing of the vehicle would go unnoticed by all.

 

Steve even looked forward to the monotony of the pain that always followed when Tony would leave him to return to his family. Because the pain was enough to outweigh the guilt, like Steve’s actions could actually be justified due to the fact that he too was suffering.

 

And now for the first time in ages, Steve finds himself completely out of his element all because of a single patient who refuses to stay as just that. For the first time ever, Steve finds himself not knowing what to expect at all. Steve hadn’t expected it to be humanly possible for Thor to be any more attractive than he’s always been, dark shorts clinging to his butt and thighs, extenuating every curve of hidden muscle the same way the wife beater did with the rest of his upper body. And with the unpleasant cast removed, Steve sees the full, dominating size of both large appendages. And though one forearm still looks in lesser shape than the other, it isn’t lacking in strength at all. Steve realizes this when he’s hauled up over Thor’s shoulder with far too much ease, the same way Thor had been doing with two large duffle bags only moments before.  

 

Steve accepts defeat when he realizes that struggling against the embarrassing hold he’s trapped in only makes everyone laugh all the more.  

 

“There’s no name on this one,” Thor fakes distress, “who does this thing of beauty belong to?”

 

Then Steve rolls his eyes as he’s gently returned to the ground, once again left staggered when Thor pulls him into a hug. And Thor smells freshly showered and darkly fragranced, all kinds of intoxicating in the warm embrace. And Steve feels he needs to inforce a three-steps-away rule right away; effective immediately and in place for the duration of the trip.

 

“I’m glad you came,” Thor says quietly for only Steve to hear before he finally lets go and addresses the small new group of nobody that Steve’s yet acquainted with apart from a delighted looking Frigga. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is Dr. Rogers, the man I’ve told you all about and his lovely assistant, Nurse Wanda will be joining us tomorrow.”

 

“Just _Steve_ is fine,” he insists as Thor rushes off to help Natasha offload her Mini Cooper and load the camper. The vehicle is a monstrosity; no doubt the unfortunate victim of the very same artists who got a hold of Thor’s cast. Its paint job is all bright colors and odd twirls between badly drawn caricatures of people Steve doesn’t know, but assumes hold some sort of importance to the vehicle’s owner. Steve doesn’t stare for too long, the beginnings of a headache already threatening to sprout.

 

Steve’s line of work forces him to meet new people every day regardless of how uncomfortable the situation makes him feel. And his uneasiness is solely due to the fact that nobody ever enters his office unless something is or could be terribly wrong with them. So the ease he feels when staring at everyone’s smiling faces is another first for Steve.

 

The first man to introduce himself has a rather endearing presence, smile made slightly more adorable due to the slight gap in his teeth.  He tells Steve that his name is Sam as he offers his hand and he’s a counselor to orphaned children with PTSD. Steve immediately decides he likes Sam.

 

Steve also meets Scott an entomologist, T’challa who is a governor of several non-profit organizations and Clint, a high school gym teacher who was once an Olympics gold medalist in Archery.

 

After all these years, it’s sort of really endearing how they all still consider each other family. Steve is reminded of his own friendship with Rhodes, Bucky and Tony, one he’s certain he will never be able to fully repair and blames himself for this fact immensely.    

 

Steve is just about to dwell on this as the brothers laugh and share with him the many crazy antics they got up to growing up. He’s just about to slip back into the very depression that almost made him not show up at all in the first place. But Thor returns to the group with an irritated looking Natasha at his side, frustration undoubtedly due to Bruce who is still at hers.  

 

Although Thor has a way of blending into any situation and making it his own, it’s even more enjoyable watching him like this. His natural extroverted leadership oozes out as he gives orders, loud voice effortlessly commanding everyone’s attention. Steve is just about to follow said briefings and enter the camper when a large hand pulls him aside.

 

“I’m taking the second trip with the kids so I’ll only be there in a few hours,” Thor says almost apologetically and Steve wants to tell him he doesn’t require special attention. It’s not like Thor is obligated to be Steve’s babysitter. It’s not like Steve is actually really disappointed that they have to split up. “If you need anything just ask my mom or anyone else, everyone is really cool.”

 

“I’ll be fine,” Steve assures, feeling uneasy when some of the gazes thrown at them from the group seem more knowing than curious. Steve wants to demand Thor tells them to reverse whatever the hell it is he has them thinking.

 

“And at least you know that peculiar bugger really well,” Thor smiles broadly albeit guiltily as he nods over his shoulder.

 

Steve raises brow as Thor rushes away before he can ask any more questions, questions that fall away when his eyes fall on the _peculiar bugger_ Thor had been referring to.  

 

As usual, he’s dressed in all black, jeans and hoodie completely out of place for the kind of trip they’re about to take. He actually looks even more out of place than Steve feels, Steve’s not quite sure if that’s comforting or not.

 

“This is the most stupid version of _Parent Trap_ ever,” Bucky says as he approaches Steve. For the life of him, Steve can’t read the expression on his best friend’s face. It’s an anomaly in itself, never before having to guess what Bucky was thinking.  But none of the hostility from the last time they’d stood face to face is present. And whether or not it’s all an act or build up to an inevitable battle, Steve is grateful that Bucky is mature enough to keep it at bay if only just for now.  

 

“I swear to God I had no idea-”

 

“I know,” Bucky interrupts and there’s the tiniest ghost of a smile that gives Steve a lot more hope than it should, “this has Thor’s stink all over it. God knows why they’re fans, but I’m only here for the kids. Maybe we can stay out of each other’s way but at least pretend to be civil when we have no other choice.”

 

“Bucky,” Steve wants to protest the ridiculous idea, but Bucky is already climbing into the bus.

 

Steve has no other choice but to sigh and do the same.

 

*****

The grass is certainly greener on the other side, Steve muses as he exits the camper.

 

They’ve long since left the city. Busy streets and tall buildings are replaced with luscious landscapes framed by high mountains. The air is cooler and crisp, a sturdy breeze chilling Steve’s skin despite the sun shining fiercely in the cloudless sky. The tall trees give off a soothing sort of rustle that’s only outdone by the minty pine scent their leaves and cones offer and it’s all entirely too therapeutic to come without a written prescription.

 

Although the ceaseless splendor is unreal and magnetic, Steve is actually disappointed that Thor had been wrong. Because as the morning transitions into a warm afternoon, Steve realizes that this isn’t at all any different from the mundane depression that his life has become.

 

And it’s sad. And it isn’t for lack of trying. But it’s Steve’s reality.

 

And it started the moment the men began to offload the camper and mark their respective territory in the west side cabin, directly opposite from the ladies’. Because Bucky was outwardly avoiding direct eye contact even when Sam made an effort to include Steve in their vibrant conversations about abseiling and mountain lions. And although Bruce was naturally introverted, he still had the ability to forge himself into a perfectly fun animal that had everyone in stitches with his deliberate clumsiness. And Steve was still just an adulterous doctor with no right to be among such vibrancy.

 

It didn’t take long for Thor to arrive with the children and even he was too preoccupied to notice Steve’s obstinate existence. And by the time the sky adopted a warm afternoon glow and they’re all sitting around the campfire, Steve finds himself listening to everyone get along and swap stories, watching in from the outside, harshly reminded of his inner loneliness, blindness and inability to let go. 

 

“What’s on your mind?” Steve snaps away from the hypnotizing bonfire that threatens to draw him into thinking about going back home like a little boy who can’t stand being away from his mother for too long. Steve is shocked to find that it’s Natasha sitting beside him, looking straight ahead as if she’d said nothing at all. And then a small smile touches her lips when all Steve is capable of doing is stare. She shrugs. “The quietest people are the ones who have the best stories.”

 

“Then you must be harboring bestselling novels in there,” Steve quips before he can think to keep his bluntness in check. And Steve is sure they’ve left the real world and entered some twilight zone because Natasha actually laughs.

 

“Would you rather I led by asking you what your intentions are with my brother?” Natasha raises a sharp brow, smile falling away but seeming no less amused.  

 

Steve finds himself unable not to stare over the dancing conflagration to where the man in question is sitting. He’s crossed legged on the ground getting his hair braided half badly by Raven and half expertly by Angel. And Thor is smiling rather brilliantly as he tries to teach Bruce to relax his fingers over the strings of an acoustic guitar that everyone else is threatening to break. But there’s laughter and joy that radiates off of Thor and infects everyone around him. And Steve accepts the fact that there was never ever anything really special about the connection he thought he had with Thor, because Thor connects with everyone. It’s what Thor does.

 

So Steve has no right to be slightly hurt over any of it. 

 

“He’s a great guy,” Steve says honestly, because by God it is true. “I probably shouldn’t have come.”

 

“From what I’ve heard you’re a great guy too,” Natasha says as if it pains her to let the words out. “Pretty neat what you did for the kids.”

 

“Anyone would’ve done that,” Steve shrugs, pulling one leg up to his chest in an attempt to get comfortable on the suddenly scratchy log.

 

“No, Dr. Rogers,” Natasha bumps Steve’s shoulder with her own, shocking him yet again. “And maybe when _you_ realize that you might allow yourself to see what Thor sees in you.”

 

Steve stares into Natasha’s eyes and she holds his gaze equally stubbornly. Steve is sure that the intensity of the moment between them could easily be misconstrued for something entirely different were anyone to actually look their way. But they’re conveniently hidden even though they’re sharing the same flame as everyone else, and they’re hushed and somewhat transparent in the otherwise vibrant night. And for the first time, Steve notices that he just may have far too much in common with someone after all.

 

Steve smiles.

 

“Do I need to give you a quick checkup,” Steve opts for humor to alleviate the seriousness of the moment; it’s what he himself would readily respond to. “Because it almost sounds like you’re being nice to me.”

 

“Slowdown, playboy,” Natasha rolls her eyes before nodding towards her large brother. “You might be too self-absorbed to even take into account the possibility of him being capable of being scared. Or getting hurt. It’s his natural ability to care for everyone that often makes people forget that he needs to be cared for too. Just be sure you’re ready to catch before you do any falling.”

 

As Natasha stands and leaves before Steve can so much as blink, he isn’t put off with the idea of being left alone again. Because Steve suddenly has a whole lot more to think about than the safety of his own heart.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes, I'm still alive ...and I've been doing a lot of behind the scenes writing. 
> 
> This is my first time posting directly from my phone, if this works life will be do much easier from here on. *crossing fingers*
> 
> Thanks for all your patience and hope the new year is treating you all too well!!!!

Steve wakes up in a fully justifiable state of panic, his hand instinctively flying to remove the one that’s clamped down over his mouth muffling his tirade of curses. His eyes adjust to the darkness just enough to make out the imposing figure looming over him as he scratches futilely with blunt nails on the arm keeping him pressed to the mattress. Steve is just about to force his lips apart and sink his teeth into his assailant’s palm when a familiar voice whispers quiet words of assurance, so low and so close that Steve can feel moist lips against his earlobe.

“Steven – calm down – it’s me – it’s just me – it’s Thor,” is repeated in a raspy whisper between unapologetic chuckling as Steve fights to calm his breathing and battles to get his heartrate down to a safer speed. When Steve is composed enough to give up the struggle altogether and let out his first real heavy sigh of relief, Thor’s hand leaves his mouth, brushing delicately over his jaw and then cheek before stoking his bed hair flat.

The porchlight suddenly betrays Steve the moment Thor shifts his angle and it beams through the window of the cabin, highlighting Thor’s gentle smile and long blond hair falling about his face. And the hand on Steve’s chest that had been keeping down is now soft and warm, rubbing reassuring circles of heat right through Steve’s old t-shirt. And Steve is reminded of the end of every clichéd fairytale where the prince kisses the princess, miraculously rousing her from a slumber that was assumed to be infinite. And although, in this light, Thor looks more beautiful than all the fabled heroes from every book ever written combined, Steve is most certainly not a damsel in distress. So Steve brushes Thor away, trying his hardest to appear as irritated as he should be as he sits up on his elbows.

“Is something wrong?” Steve automatically looks at his alarm clock that isn’t on his nightstand because this isn’t his bedroom in Brooklyn. All disorientation instinctively turns to panic despite the heartening curve of Thor’s lips and his lack of alacrity as he peels the covers off of Steve. Steve has never been so relieved that he chose sweatpants over boxers to sleep in.

“Absolutely everything is alright,” Steve should feel comforted at hearing, but how can he when he’s being hauled out of bed and up against the very man he had just been shamefully dreaming about. “Just keep your voice down and come with me.”

Steve is too confused to search for his robe but smart enough to sink into his slippers as he watches Thor sneak almost comically out of the cabin’s open door. A quick sweep of the shadowy room reveals that all the children are sound asleep or expertly pretending to be.

It’s only once the cold air slaps Steve fully awake and the cabin disappears behind them that Steve realizes he’s following Thor through a forest in the middle of the night with no explanation from the near stranger. Steve recalls shaking his head at some naïve idiot who did the exact same thing on an investigative crime show an hour before her body went missing and a year before the case went cold.

“Where the hell are you taking me?” Steve demands in a harsh whisper, grabbing Thor’s arm and trying his hardest to peer between the scattered trees along the indistinct trail that seemingly leads nowhere. When Thor turns back to face him, Steve nearly gasps at the hues that he’s met with. The staging of the backwoods is doing enthralling things to the taller man. The dark blues of the night are mashing with the silkiness of natural light the full moon offers making Thor glow almost godly and appear barbarically bulkier.

“Do you have faith in me, Steven?” Thor inquires; appearing nearly as stunned as Steve feels by whatever it is the night is tricking him into seeing.

“No,” Steve counters honestly and Thor laughs.

“Will you have faith in me?” Thor tries again and it’s a soft plea that exposes Thor’s desperation to be trusted over his unwillingness to elaborate.

And in that moment, Steve realizes that Natasha is right. Steve has been far too self-absorbed. Although Steve had taken in his surroundings and his company, it had all been an obscure collection of the tragic side he wanted to see, a kneejerk reaction he’s been prone to for far too long. Because pessimism leaves no room for unplanned disappointments. No room for vulnerability. No chance for letting life happen at all.

With his blinders aside, Steve sees Thor’s helplessness written in the sad slant of his eyebrows. He sees a frightened kind of hope sparkle in his blue eyes. He sees the strained way Thor’s chest rises and falls as if battling exhaustion. And Steve realizes that Thor is capable of getting exhausted. Thor is capable of giving up on whatever this is between them. Thor is capable of giving up on him.

The mere thought of it stirs up a pain so deep it frightens Steve to the core, an aggressive feeling of loss Steve never thought he could associate with Thor. Until now.

And so Steve keeps from outwardly shaking by walking down the trial passed an amused looking Thor. It isn’t a question when he smiles over his shoulder and says, “Are you going to lead the way, or what.”

*****

“I’m not getting in there,” Steve shakes his head and backs away.

“You have no choice,” Thor laughs as he kicks his flip-flops off into the pile of discarded clothes, “it’s a foster home tradition.”

“Couldn’t you find something less life-threatening than contracting primary amebic meningoencephalitis?” Steve quips. The second Thor pulls his vest over his head Steve keeps from staring at the larger man’s perfectly peeked nipples above endless ripples of muscle by focusing on the other men already playing in the lake like little boys seeing water for the first time. “Or being devoured by piranhas.”

“I do believe its common knowledge that piranhas only hunt during the day,” Thor shrugs, casually removing his shorts. “We should be able to preserve the meat on our bones if we don’t wake them.”

“Very comforting,” Steve rolls his eyes and then fixes them on a blindfolded Bruce who shouts Marco before the rest return Polo. Because Thor doesn’t skip a beat before sliding his briefs down his long, toned legs. And Steve can’t risk losing his sanity by seeing Thor naked, regardless of the fact that he’s been forced to inspect that very mass of muscle before. Back when Steve was being professional and Thor was in a hospital gown and Steve had to push the thin garment aside to get a better look at the healing progress of the sewn up laceration that would undoubtedly leave a permanent scar slanting horribly from his left upper thigh to his Iliac Furrow.

But Steve was Dr. Rogers back then and Dr. Rogers was nothing short of pure professionalism. Steve trusts Dr. Rogers with every fiber of his existence. Steve wishes with all his might that Dr. Rogers will make an impromptu appearance and save Steve from himself, because the second Thor is standing directly in front of him, Steve’s cock swells distressingly fast.

“I’ve never once tried you to trick you into believing I’m comfortable,” Thor confesses, gripping the bottom of Steve’s shirt. At such proximity Steve smells everything, the cool air and the pine trees and Thor’s factual naked caution to the wind. It’s dizzying to say the least and all that keeps him grounded is the fact that they are not alone. Even as he lets Thor undress him on the bank, Steve is able to remind himself that Thor is merely trying to introduce him to a tradition that everyone else has adapted to. But when he lets Thor remove his last item of clothing and bare him to the night, Steve holds Thor’s gaze and absently rewards the larger man for not letting his own drop from his eyes.

“I hoped you would-” Thor says breathily, “-one day trust me like this.”

Then Thor unceremoniously jogs into the water, the farther the pool covers his chest, the more Steve realizes he is the one in actual danger of drowning. Steve finally relents and follows; body naked, mind bare, ambiance finally pliant.

For the first time, Steve welcomes the idea that falling and being fallen for doesn’t have to result in either person actually collapsing.

*****  
Steve can’t remember the last time he’s spent the night out with friends until the sun began to rise. With college and then the crazy work hours that followed graduation followed by Tony starting a family, it’s been over a decade since studying, beepers and last minute excuses hadn’t trounced the simplicity of having not a single worry in the world.

By the time they’re all dried up and have shamelessly redressed their nakedness, Steve is the nice sort of pruney exhausted that comes with hours of enjoyable physical exertion, a nice change to the everyday drain he’s met with after an all-night shift at the hospital. But even though nothing sounds better than Thor’s suggestion to head back to bed and steal a few hours of sleep before Frigga is sounding the old brass bell to wake the children up to start the day, Steve doesn’t follow the tired group back up the trail to camp. Not when Bucky stretches out on the lake’s bank and announces that he prefers to stay and watch the sun rise entirely.

Steve doesn’t have to say a word before Thor is giving him a knowing smile, the warm squeeze on Steve’s shoulder is both encouraging and appreciated before Thor too disappears up the trail to leave the two old friends alone.

There’s something undeniably forgiving about being out in the open surrounded by wide stretches of tranquility and humbling high mountains, something about being from the city’s stench of stress that makes Steve brave enough to sit right beside Bucky. So close that even the small twigs between them don’t keep their thighs from touching and the fact that Bucky doesn’t flinch or move away makes Steve hopeful. And Steve allows himself to smile, because he’s reminded of all the times Bucky would sit more on him than beside him because Bucky always said ‘it’s selfish of a brother not to annoy the other by invading space like a love’- Steve still chuckles at that line every time he hears the song play on the radio.

“I used to envy you,” Bucky finally breaks the almost comfortable silence and Steve is glad Bucky knows him enough to take his own silence as an invitation for Bucky to vent. “We were both dealt the same crappy cards, losing our parents and all. But you actually got adopted, by the Starks no less.You didn’t just get parents, you got a brother too. I was never jealous, just envious and I always though; why couldn’t that be me. And I came to the conclusion that, unlike me, you actually really deserved it.”

Steve wants to object, wants to tell Bucky that he deserves the world. But the look his friend gives him when he sits up and finally meets Steve’s eyes warn him against it. Steve sits quietly and lets Bucky continue.

“Then they had kids and named you the godfather. Not Rhodes, not me, just you without a second thought. Because, hands down, you were the only person any one of us could ever really trust.” Bucky shakes his head and lets a bitter chuckle rumble at the back of his throat. “Now to see you in this light; it’s like back at the orphanage when I was a kid and I’d been waiting all year for my Captain America themed birthday party. And it was the best day of my life until I walked around back and saw him without his mask on, smoking a cigarette and drinking whiskey out of a brown paper bag. And I realized he’s not a hero at all. He’s just an underdog in disguise.”

“Bucky,” Steve sighs, the sudden knot in his chest tightening, “I never once claimed to be perfect-”

I know you haven’t,” Bucky is too calm for Steve’s liking, the kind of empty that doesn’t match the weight of his words. “Like I said, I personally stopped believing in heroes ages ago. But those girls, your goddaughters, they still do. They don’t deserve any of this. Pepper doesn’t either. That’s the part that I can’t get over; how you could selfishly jepordize their chance of growing up in a happy, healthy family when you know how it hurts almost missing out on having one.”

And Steve doesn’t bother fighting the blatant guilt from surfacing and spilling over, the guilt he’d become expert at ignoring with the selfish shield of his own mix of what he wanted and who he felt h deserved to be with. Tony had been his sole addiction, Tony’s affection his fix; a craving so intense he’d allowed himself to forget who he was.  
Because the high was too beautiful when sated and too dominating when just out of reach.  
And Steve had allowed himself to be consumed entirely, a willing victim to a possession that both blinded and broke.  
And Steve is so sorry.  
And he’ll do whatever he can to piece together the shattered remnants of the relationships he’s ruined – protect the ones he was moments away from destroying as well.  
And Steve only realizes that he’s voiced all of the turmoil in his head out loud when Bucky’s arms come around him and Steve’s tears are adding to the dampness that the tips of Bucky’s hair had already left on his collar.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says again, feeling defeated from new absence of denial, warmed by the embrace and embarrassed by his lack of decorum. But Bucky simply holds him tighter and it nearly just makes Steve breakdown all the more because Steve had been convinced that he’d never be on the receiving end of Bucky’s famous bear hugs ever again.

“You can stop that now,” Bucky chuckles, voice cracking with emotion, “you know I can’t stand seeing grown men cry. We’re okay. But you do know there’s one more thing you probably have to do.”

And Bucky doesn’t have to mention what it is. Steve already knows. Steve knows if he really wants to make things right, he’ll have to risk wrecking them first.

He knows he has to have that long overdue talk with Pepper. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!! Please let me know how it appears on your end, looks fine on mine... But then again, it's 12am -aka squint o'clock lol. 
> 
> More soon!


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